The old saying “from the mouths of babes” stems from the fact that children have a raw honesty when they speak from the heart.  My ‘babe’ has grown into a man who speaks with a passionate raw honesty that cannot be denied.  Last night my son came home from watching the Pat’s game (go Pats!) with his dad.  We said our usual hello’s as he took off his coat.  He had a look on his face that held my attention, I waited.  I could see him constructing the words in his mind, I knew he had something to say.  I also knew he needed me to listen.  He still had that look on his face.

Back in September, we started a workout program together.  We’ve both always been passionate about working out, giving it our all, and we both have tendencies to let life get in the way.  We did well for a few months, then one thing after another, we stopped with the promise of getting back into it.  The holidays came and we stopped talking about it.

He turned to me and said he wanted us to get back to working out together, regularly.  We are a team, we work well together and we push each other.  He wanted a commitment and was giving me a week’s notice so I could get mentally and physically prepared for our journey.  He talked about our workout plan, food, dis-order and failure.  There it was, the look.  My son said he’d failed us the last time by not keeping us on track.  I told him he did not fail us, we failed us.  We let life get in the way by putting everything and everyone else before our own goals.  His face said it all, he was harboring all our failures himself.  All of the success in my life was born from even more failures.  It wrecked me to think I’d contributed to my son’s feelings of failure.  I also felt he needed me as much as I needed him to do this.  I told him I was in.  We started talking about our plan.  For the next week we are going to get an unused room in the house ready to work out in a few days a week and go back to our gym the other days.  We talked about schedules and commitment.  When I went to bed he came in my room and told me he had started a journal when we started working out together in September.  He said he was going to give it to me for Christmas but since we quit working out, he didn’t.  I asked him if he still had it, he said yes.  I told him I would love to read it.  This morning I saw it in email.  It brought me to tears.  He wrote about pushing each other, triumphs and tragedy’s.  He made an entry every single day and commented on progress and personal gains.  He wrote about leaning on each other and commitment. 

Who knew almost 24 years ago I’d give birth to a child who would grow up and save my life?  Where all my friends and family are afraid to bring up sensitive subjects with me; my son, with his raw honesty and courage, will broach any subject, no matter how uncomfortable.  I admire the courage, and the intensity.  He’s not afraid of anything, not even me.  I so admire that.  With more of a gentle manner about him, he’s like me.  I can always trust him with the raw truth, whether I want to hear it or not.

Perhaps it’s because his dad and I divorced when he was very small that we’ve been very close.  Perhaps it’s just because I only had the one child.  What ever the reason is, I have always felt blessed and very fortunate to have such a tight relationship with my son.  He’s a lot like me, which is very evident when we argue.  But, we never stay mad for long, because we love, and trust each other deeply.

He’s the one person who knows everything about me, and still likes me.  He doesn’t judge me, even when he doesn’t agree with me.   He’s throws me a bouy when I’m sinking and then becomes the rock to lean on when I’ve gone too far and can’t get out of my own way.  We communicate.  We count on each other.   He makes me look good as a mom.