A few years ago, I spoke with someone who was all too quickly, for his liking, approaching the age of forty. He explained, You know, you get married, you get a job, you work to get better at your job, and you’re always looking forward to something. Then, you hit a certain age, and there isn’t much to look forward to anymore.

I listened to him quietly, feeling a bit sad at his words, but didn’t say much. As he talked, I looked around at my three kids who were milling around and thought to myself, there is so much to look forward to.

In a way, that person was right. The first half of life is spent doing a lot of striving. Dreaming. Achieving. A lot of looking forward. But, at least for me, a shift happened eighteen years ago.

Eighteen years ago today, a touch before midnight, Charlie entered our world and changed our lives forever. Suddenly, my dreams didn’t matter quite as much. In a single moment, his life became infinitely more important than mine. His dreams, his goals, his story mattered more than mine.

Being a mom is like being in the most intense movie that never ends. In the early years, I am a main character. I am a part of every scene. I am not just watching, but acting, directing, producing, and intimately involved in nearly every aspect of the movie. As the years move forward, however, my role changes. Now, I may play bit part, a guest appearance, or a reoccurring character who shows up on special occasions, but mostly, I’m in the audience. Mostly, I sit front and center, and take it all in.

It is the most exciting movie I’ve ever seen. It is full of ups and downs and surprises. There are twists and turns. There are endless unknowns ahead and sometimes the movie utterly breaks my heart–but I’ll never turn it off. I am engaged always. I am invested in the movie. I want to see it all. I may yell from my front row seat and sometimes, as I attempt to direct and produce. Often times, the main characters ignore my input and other times they consider my suggestions. But I’m there. I’m in my seat. I’m watching. I’m cheering. I am living through every scene with them.

I don’t want to miss a thing.

I am not sad about the passing years. I am looking forward to every second of this unfolding story.

Eighteen years slipped by us in a flash. I am a mom of a legal-adult-who-is-still-a-boy-but-approaching-adulthood. I am a Mom of a young man.

Charlie,

You are eighteen today. EIGHTEEN!!

I can hardly believe it, but also, I can believe it. I used to think that I never wanted you to grow up. I never wanted things to change. But here, today, on your eighteenth birthday, I feel very differently. I am ready for things to change not because I am ready, but because I know you are ready.

You are ready to venture out and experience the life ahead of you. You are ready to wade into the unknown waters and navigate through the unknowns.

You. Are. Ready.

Here is the thing, I want you to remember, Charlie. The road ahead will not be easy. Life is not easy. Life is not supposed to be easy. Instead, life is supposed to be lived and felt, and experienced in all its fullness. There will be joys and successes and there will be heartaches and failures. I want you to experience it all. I want to you dive in fully and face the unknowns and all that comes with them. I want you to know that you are capable and can thrive through all that lies ahead.

And no matter what it is that you experience, Charlie, I will always be in the front row. I will be mostly watching, but I will also be cheering, encouraging, praying and supporting you in whatever way you need. You see, Charlie, when you were born, the mother in me was also born.

I will always be for you. I will always be in your corner.

This doesn’t mean I will always agree or that I won’t try to help you correct course–but I will always be for you.

Charlie, you are absolutely one of the coolest people I’ve ever known. I am so proud of who you are. Who you are becoming. I never thought I would enjoy this process of you getting older, but here we are, and I’m loving it.

You are a gift. You are uniquely you. You are a treasure.

No matter the path you take or the road you chose–I’ll be in the front row cheering you on.

I am so proud to call you my son.

Happy 18th, Charlie!

Love,
Mom