Something that keeps my wife from having a good night’s sleep is when she hears that one of our daughter’s is not well. Initially, I used to think it was the doctor in her, trying to find a medical remedy, but now I think it’s all about being a mother.

I recall an article, written by a young mother:

“Is there a magic cut off period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug and say, “It’s their life,” and feel nothing?”

“When I was in my twenties and a young mother, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches on my son’s head. I asked, “When do you stop worrying?” The nurse said, “When they get out of the accident stage.”

My mother, standing nearby, just smiled faintly and said nothing.

“When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, “Don’t worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them.”

My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.”

“When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the bikes to come home, and the front door to open. A friend said, “They’re trying to find themselves. Don’t worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They’ll be adults.”

My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.”

“By the time I was 50, I was sick and tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new thought; that there was nothing I could do about it. My mother, now old, still smiled faintly and said nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments.”

“My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother’s warm smile and her occasional, “You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?”

“Can it be that mothers are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?”

“My daughter became quite irritable recently, saying to me, “I was so worried the other night when my little one came home late!”

I smiled a warm smile. The torch had passed on..!

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