When Little Boys Grow Big

The world has shifted this week, and it's left me unsure of my emotional footing. There are tears coming (am I moody, or what?) but I'm not sure just when they'll arrive. I might induce them with sad music in a private moment, just to ease the weight in my chest. I'm far too sentimental for my own comfort, sometimes.

My baby brother (all right, he's an engineer now, and 24 years old) moved out west yesterday. I'm feeling all sorts of irrational things about that. Like, how could he leave my kids? How could he leave the family? We were all here, parents, children, siblings and significant others - we had big family dinners every couple of weeks. Now there's a pair missing, and it matters to me. I'm worried he won't come back. I know it's his life, and it's good for him to go and do this while he's young and unfettered. Well, not exactly unfettered, he takes with him a wonderful girlfriend who is also from the Maritimes, so if anything, she may be what brings him back in the end.

Then there's my Little Boy. He starts school in a few weeks, and I can't help but be aware of how fast he's growing up. I see his long legs and hear him talking to himself as he plays, and I marvel. He takes my breath away. Who is this beautiful little brown creature who argues with me at every turn, defiant and dauntless in his quest for independance? Where is my curly-haired, short-legged, grinning toddler, who loved his mother more than anything?

I know he's there, because he visits me in odd moments. He comes to me for a hug when my hands are still, and lays his head - hair cut too short for curls, now - on my shoulder. He touches my cheek when I'm having my turn with the toothbrush. He will cuddle up for a story whenever I want. And his neck still smells so good.