Letting Go

It's hard to let go.

It's hard for me to let go.

It's hard when babies grow up.

It's hard when my babies grow up.

They let go.

I don't.

I won't. They are my heart-strings.

They make my heart sing....still.


My daughter, Susan Elizabeth, was born on a sweltering, August night in 1983. Two months early. Named after my mother and her great-grandmother.

I was young but not too young to realize, for the first time in my life, what true love really was.


Suzy's tiny body didn't match her spirit. Her spirit was and still is enormous. And the enormity of her spirit got her through some tough times in her life.

I have been, am still, and always will be there unconditionally, every step of the way, right by her side.

Her joys are my joys and her tears are my tears.

On a frigid November evening in 1984, I welcomed my son, Edward James. Named after his father.

Eddie was blessed, or blessed me, with a calm spirit.

Never demanding, always patient, this spirit still carries him through the roughest times in life.

I have been, am still, and always will be there unconditionally, every step of the way, right by his side.

His joys are my joys and his tears are my tears.

I miss my little babies. I miss rocking them at night and lulling them to sleep.

I miss kissing their soft cheeks and throwing them themed birthday parties.

I miss sewing them Halloween costumes.

I miss giving them baths and tucking them into sun-kissed, line-dried sheets.

I miss saying, "Good night, Sleep tight, Don't let the bed-bugs bite. God Bless you"

I miss tying untied shoes.

I miss going to football games and tennis tournaments.

I miss having a ton of obnoxious teenagers in my home.

My babies were my heart-strings. And now that they are all grown up and letting go I sometimes feel as if those heart-strings have been cut...and I want to tie them back together.

It's hard letting go.

But I know, for them, I have to.

Chicken Soup

Peeling carrots, chopping celery , onions, herbs and chicken a-boilin'. A pot of my chicken soup was in the making. Time spent in the kitchen with my youngest, Eddie (23), has become one of my favorite things.

It's hard to squeeze in time with your kids when they grow up. They're busy living their lives, hangin' with friends, searching for jobs, etc. I've discovered that there is an "in" for each one of my kids.

Food and cooking is my "in" when it comes to Eddie. When the phone rings and Eddie's number pops up I know that

1. He's wondering if I have made dinner and/or if I'd like to.
2. He'd like to know if his jeans that I've had for 6 months have a repaired zipper yet.

Usually its number 1. I think he's given up on number 2.

Eddie doesn't expect me to do the cooking but rather he likes cooking with me and that's a wonderful thing. I learn a lot about my son while in the kitchen. I've learned that he's a damn good cook. He's passionate, strong and wise. He's funny, sensitive and responsible. Oh the joy of cooking!

Leaning over a bowl of hot chicken soup we sit across from one another at the table. He's smiling, savoring each delicious slurp. I'm smiling, savoring each delicious moment.