So today my son, my beautiful, infuriating, brilliant
What lies in his future? I've got no idea. He's learning about money as fast as crappy financial decisions and overspending can teach him. He's learning about being someone else's support, instead of being someone else's burden, and I'm hoping the lesson doesn't drain him; hoping it actually gives him strength and joy. He's going to tackle his own demons, delight in his own victories in his own livingroom, his own kitchen and ... not ours. Not mine. Not the one that used to be his.
He hasn't been living here for a while. Not really; he's been at his girlfriend's place, dropping by here occasionally to decompress when life as an adult threatened to overwhelm him. (He's always been younger than he needed to be in this world; our fault, my fault) He can always come back, but now he'll be visiting.
I'm so relieved. I'm so angry it didn't happen earlier. I'm so shocked it's happening so soon. I'm so scared.
He'll do fine. Or he won't. But it's his call, not ours.
My son, my son, oh Absalom, my son.
Win, little one. You're no longer little and you haven't been for a long time. Beat the world. Be magnificent.