The worry of being a parent

Unless you have children, there is no way to ever know the depths of love - or the worry - you have for your offspring. As a first-time parent, I remember distinctly my wife and I checking on our daughter one night when she was only a few weeks old. She was in her basinette, and hadn't made a sound for over two hours. That was unusual for a newborn, so we were worried that something might be the matter. We crept into her room and checked to see if she was breathing. In the process, of course, we ended up waking her.

With each of our kids, as they experienced their first scape, cut, high fever, or other injury or illness, we went through various stages of concern. Same thing held for any of the angst they would experience in the normalcy of growing up. A bad grade. Not being able to play on the starting team. Getting a zit right before the big dance. Comforting them after a particularly bad break-up. Worrying with them as to whether they would get admitted into the college of their choice. And then worrying whether they'd actually make it through college and get that degree.

Then comes the day when their schooling is finished and they set out on their own. They find a job and an apartment. This is when people who do not have children erroneously think that a parent's job is done. That the parent's days of worrying are behind them. I admit I once thought this too. Boy, was I wrong.

I think back now about my own parents and remember a couple of events that should have prepared me for being the parent of adult children and the continued worry that comes with it. The first occasion was shortly before my dad died. My wife and I, along with our two oldest kids, one a toddler, the other only 6 months old, visited my parents. While we were there, my dad pulled me aside and asked me how I was doing, and If I was happy in life. I was taken aback by these questions, which were asked so seriously, but told my dad that I was doing good, and my life was indeed a happy one. I then asked why he asked. He simply said I was his son and he would always worry about me. I didn't give it much thought until many years later.

The second instance came many years after the first, long after my dad was gone. My mother, one day while I was visiting her, asked me similar questions. Of course, I assured her that my life was good, but I was curious why she asked these questions. She replied that a parent always worried about their children. At the time, my mother was 79. I was 44. Two of my children were teens; the other a pre-teen. So, of course I worried about them. However, I still wrongly thought that when they were "grown and gone", my worries would end.

The joys you have in watching a beautiful helpless baby grow into strong, caring, independent adults certainly outweigh the worry you will always carry with you about their well-being. But now, at nearly 64 - and my adult children at 35, 31, and 28 - I understand why my parents asked me those questions so many years ago. Being a parent is, after all, a lifetime commitment.

Old Fart Mike