He jokes all the time, calling me his "helicopter mom." But he never actually objects to sharing his phone location with me. I assure him I will not intrude, and he believes me. I have always wondered, somewhere in the back of my mind, when his college years arrived, how he would manage life on his own.
He went through his struggles. He even fell terribly ill once. But he managed to take care of himself through it. He started cooking diligently too, which is something I genuinely never thought he would get around to.
The Compass That Was Always Pointed at Him
For years, my internal compass was calibrated entirely to his safety, to his needs, to whatever he might require next. Even though he got along just fine being independent, I missed taking care of him more than I expected to admit.
So I decided to visit him during his birthday week. It was his first birthday away from me, and I could not resist. I flew into the nearest airport to his college town and took a bus the rest of the way. He instructed me to get off at the last stop and wait for him. He had a class that morning but managed to get to the bus stand just in time.
He was excited I was there, and his energy felt different, like he was in charge now. He took my suitcase from me without being asked, and we boarded another local bus together to reach his apartment.
Three Days in His World
We spent the next three days of my stay walking through his university campus. He showed me every building he regularly went to for classes, his usual study corners, the places he and his friends hung out between lectures. I did not want us to cook, so we ate out at his regular spots and discovered a few new ones along the way.
He introduced me to his friends, and we all got together for dinner to celebrate his birthday. He had a family of friends now, a whole world I had not been part of building. The warmth and safety I felt around them made my internal compass, the one that had worried about him constantly, finally relax with relief.
When He Started Giving Me Instructions
Happy but also a little sad about leaving, I started preparing to head back for my flight the next morning. I had an early bus to catch. He was usually not an early riser, so I told him to skip coming to see me off. He decided otherwise and said he would come anyway, groggy from the dinner party the night before and with classes waiting for him later that day.
So he instructed me again, this time to text him from time to time. When I reached the airport. When I took off. When I finally landed and got home.
I was amused, and I could not help but notice the irony. My own "mom-isms," reflected straight back at me. But I did exactly as he asked, just like he had always done for me.
The Trip That Made Everything Clear
A few months later, we planned a trip back to our home country for the winter holidays, travelling separately for a cousin's wedding. Our flights were both landing in Delhi around midnight, though I was arriving a couple of days ahead of him.
He had visited Delhi before, but only as a child, and he had since read about the city's reputation for crimes against women. As the trip got closer, his excitement started mixing with real anxiety. He was deeply concerned about landing there at an odd hour.
In my usual protective mode, I told him I would pick him up from the airport myself, since I would already be in the city. And then he asked me something nobody had asked before. He said he was not worried about himself. He wanted to know what I was going to do. Was anyone from the family picking me up? Was I booking a hotel near the airport for the night?
The Question Nobody Had Ever Asked
Nobody had asked me that question before. Not because they did not care, but because everyone simply knew I had traveled alone for years and that I would manage on my own.
I told him I had not even thought about it yet, and I assured him I would let him know once I figured it out.
It is, I think, one of the highest forms of gratitude a parent can receive, when your child starts voicing concern over your safety. It meant he had not just been receiving care all those years. He had been quietly studying it. He had learned how to love by watching me do it, and now, as a young man, he was offering to take his turn.
I got off that call with him and cried.