Ma

Mommy was the sweetest sound I had heard. I had waited most of my life to hear those sounds said in my direction. It was such a trusting sound. A sentence all its own. Its tone could convey concern, love, exclamation or need. My boys said it often. Yelled, screeched, cried and whispered it so close to my ear that that one word fullfilled me. As they grew up and away they let the word go slowly. I tried to keep it going. When I saw it lying there, I picked it up, dusted it off, gave it a squeeze and handed it gently back.

As the teen years tiptoed into my house and transformed my first born into a giant, a man with a guttural cracking voice referring to me as, "Ma," it was shocking. The word itself was no longer a term of endearment it was goat-like in its utterance, too close to baaa. A sound not so sweet, not so needy, just something to get me to look his way. I would almost prefer he called me by my first name, the way he does his friends with a chuckle but I know this was not part of the Mommy deal. I am not his friend and he does not need me the same way because I have done my job.

Once upon a time he took my cheeks in his hands and said, "Mommy, hear this. Hear this." Now there is more he does not want me to hear. His phone is constantly vibrating, texting fingers flying. Smirking more than smiling. When he catches me curiously looking at this man-boy I've created, "What?" is a constant question.

To hold the title of Mommy again would be nice. I know I do not need to wait long though, an illness will reduce him to his three year old voice and need, if not size.