A mother's heart doesn't turn off after 18-years, it doesn't even turn off after 30 or 40. And if your mother is still around when you have your own charges to worry about, she will still experience frantic moments of concern, irrational fears, and shed tears whenever you are hurting.
When I hear of mayhem and connect it, correctly or not, to the place you might be, I can't describe the paralyzing fear that I feel suspended in. When you are ill I am perfectly ready to trade places with you if only you will be well. And when you have reason to cry, your tears slice right through me with pain almost too heavy to bear.
You are my child... forever. And it is my right, not obligation, to carry you in my heart. Ironically even the children I did not raise, who became my children after becoming your love, also get a healthy share of my concern and worry. This is all just a mother's love.
And now that you are adults and making your own way in this world I adore and chuckle when you show a similar anxiety for my well-being, when you worry about my driving home from your place, or when you call me on my cell and demand "Where are you?" simply because I didn't answer my phone at home. I love the concern you have for your dad and me and maybe you can understand a tiny bit how I feel.
So when I ask you to text me when you get home or call me when you're late arriving, or I express my worries about the distance you are driving in nasty weather — laugh at me if you want, but please don't ignore my pleas. This is the way I was programmed from the moment I heard your first heartbeat, I knew I loved you and would always care about you.
Call me neurotic...
Call me a worrywart...
Call me Mom.
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