ABSTRACT

I have decidedly become a sentimental old fool. I didn’t used to be this way, and I totally blame my kids for it. Here is why I have suddenly become a big pile of emotional mush: my kids are growing up, moving out, living their own lives, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. What was that John Mayer song about not being able to stop the train, meaning time or life or something like that? I love/hate that song. It’s not that I’m lonely or afraid; I have many good friends, a healthy social life, and more work than I can possibly handle. I’d say, as a career-oriented individual, I’m pretty happy and satisfied with the trajectory my life has taken. Here is where the “but” comes in. As a mother, I’m a hot mess. There are times when my heart actually aches for my children. I miss them, and I worry about them . . . and, get this, they all live within a few miles of me, so it’s not like I go months without seeing them. Crazy? Melodramatic? Maybe. I have never been one of those stereotypical, overreacting moms whose entire life is defined

by and lived for her children-but now that they’re not around every day to cook for, clean up after, talk to, or even argue with, my world is undergoing a seismic shift, and I’m not sure I like it. Like I said . . . a hot mess.