Out of Sight
On a walk/bike ride with my 10-year-old son today, he rode way ahead of me and was more than once out of sight. Each time I felt my heart momentarily flutter with anxiety and then return to its normal rhythm once my eyes caught his bright blue helmet.
It dawned on me that the older he gets, the more out of sight he will be, and that one day I will no longer be able to set my eyes upon him at all. That is the journey of parenthood — to love and protect, but more than anything, to prepare. My son must prepare to live in a world without me, and that happens gradually.
There was a time when the movement of my very body lulled him — when his home was my womb and my voice and heartbeat were the only sounds he knew. Since his birth, I have been slowly letting him out of sight.
Today, when my eyes landed on his bright blue helmet, I observed how comfortable and at ease he was waiting for me to catch up. He didn’t seem anxious or uncertain. He knew I would catch up and that he was safe, both with and without me.
At 10, my son already knows he is capable and secure on his own, that he does not always need his parents. This seemed to have happened overnight, but of course that independence has been growing for a decade.
Perhaps I will always feel a measure of anxiety when my son is out of sight, but more importantly, I will feel pride and calm knowing he is confident and self-sufficient.
And until my eyes are no longer able to set upon him, I will relish the sight when they do. As well as the joy of knowing my son feels just as safe and at home in the world as he once did in the womb.
