Borrowed Child

I've long had the feeling that we don't "raise" our children. Sometimes, nurture can make a big difference, but when it comes right down to it, they are who they are. And they are who they are while with us for such a short time. About only 25% of a person's life is spent with their parents, growing up. Our job is to get them to adulthood; our job is not to stifle them, create our dream child, or to hinder them from becoming successful adults. We are borrowing them for this short period.

With Hugh, there was always this sense of unease. That one day, our time together will be done. It wasn't so much "you'll go away to university" but more "you'll be gone". I felt often that he was not my child. Not in the sense of a hospital mix up, there was no chance of that, but that I was just his protector and food producer for this stage in life and that would stop. I get that stops with all your children (hopefully), but this was more vague. I couldn't see the future. He changed so much on one hand, and not at all on the other hand. I didn't feel like I really knew him like a parent should. I had started to enjoy the new, mature Hugh and was excited to see what was to come. Although I was sad he was going away to university, I wasn't one of those bawling mothers.  I borrowed this child to raise him for 18 years, not knowing what the outcome would be, but excited anyway. I was sure the adult Hugh would be my reward for the uncertainties of his youth.

I never imagined that I truly had only borrowed him. That one day he would be gone, and a woman would be in his place. I've lost my child. The grief is so overcoming. My head says to be happy for him, for his courage. My heart is breaking at my loss, his grandparents' loss, the difficulties he will have to go through. Although we faced challenges in his early years, I thought my reward was an adult Hugh. I'm not going to get that reward. And I'm crushed. And I know I shouldn't be, but I am.