Silver

 It was the beginning of a great adventure. Twenty-five years ago we welcomed a new soul to the planet. To be honest, it is entirely possible that his was an old soul, just recycled. But since world population has done nothing but increase for all these millennia, I will amend that previous suggestion with the possibility that he had some old mixed in with the new. Our son, for whom we used a recycled name, is a mile-marker for my life. For him, we moved out of our one bedroom apartment, and for him I took a job that could turn into a career. 

Way back then, he could sleep in a basket. He could sleep in a drawer. A very comfy basket and drawer to be clear, but he now lives in our basement. He needs that kind of room to roam. As young parents, we started doing the math on our new addition's size, and became concerned that if he kept doubling as he did in those first months that we might need a separate house for him alone. Happily, this was not necessary, but over the years it did become apparent as we became parents that there would be a time for our little boy to go his own way. Here's the really terrific news: None of us involved ever wanted that to happen. Not outwardly, anyway. When the time came for him to go off to college, we weren't fully prepared for the void that would be created in our lives. 

And when he came back to our home, it wasn't a sacrifice. It was a gift. For all of us. It's an opportunity to have conversations with someone I find every bit as interesting and amusing as I find myself. Genetics, don'tcha know. Twenty-five years later, and there are still stories to be told, laughs to be had, jokes to be shared. I would love to tell you that his mother and I imagined that we would have this fascinating young man to keep us entertained and amused as we all age as gracefully as possible, but that would be an exaggeration. We never really knew where this path would lead us. Those late nights when he couldn't sleep because there was just too much going on outside in the world eventually gave way to a boy who like his mother could sleep through earthquakes. 

Certainly there have been nights when we have all lost sleep for one reason or another, usually because we were unsure about what might happen next. I could tell you that I have lost a lot of sleep over my son, but it wouldn't be true. More often than not, he is the quiet voice at the end of a day that tells me it's time to turn the page. Twenty-five years of that. Twenty-five years of the comfort of knowing that the adventure will continue. Triumphs and tragedies mix, but the connection does not fail. 

I love him like my own son. 

Because he is.