The Boy

One of my most treasured possessions is a letter written by my grandfather to my grandmother 15 years shy of 100 years ago when their eldest son Uncle Clarence was just a baby.  They were apart because Granny had gone to care for her ill sister.  In the letter Papa asked how "the boy" was, and said that he missed him.  That struck a chord with me for some reason, that he would refer to his own baby son as "the boy"  so we latched on to the phrase and use it liberally when referring to our one and only child, now a grown man.  He has always been and will continue to be "The Boy" Today's question is all 
about the Boy.  It asks how many children we have and how old are they?  We have just the one, and feel lucky to have him.  Because of the chemotherapy I had at the tender age of 22 my fertility was in question.  One doctor told me I had nothing to worry about, but all the others seem a little surprised that we had a healthy normal pregnancy at all.  So majority rules and Zach is my official miracle baby, not that there is much of a baby left about him.  At 21 years old and almost through with his first 4 years of college he would not fit the bill as Anyone's little baby, except for mine of course.  

When he was little I used to look forward to the day when he was grown and I would not have to worry about him, and now that he is grown I realize that day is never going to come and even worse, I have all the worry and none of the control.  The good thing is that I see signs of hope all the time.  Just when I wonder if he will be OK he surprises me with a good decision, a bit of unexpected wisdom or a measure of maturity that I did not know he had.  He steps up a lot and has made us proud on countless occasions, so my worry is probably more from habit than anything because our boy is really quite the man.