Dear Abacus,

You turned fifteen yesterday.  Taking a moment to reflect, I am amazed by our journey, by your strength, resilience and love.  I know I haven't provided you with the easiest life.  You were de facto man of the house at age 6.  There were many times since then that I have lost my way, and as a result, your trust in me has eroded.

I remember the first time my father was knocked off the pedestal upon which I had placed him.  It was a sobering moment, and I was 17.  I was hardly prepared for it.  As a result, I have always tried to keep your image of me grounded in reality.  I have never tried to hide a flaw or project an image of perfection for the sake of my own ego.  I had hoped, that by being real with you, I could spare you the pain of knowing a falling hero, a broken illusion.  And, amazingly, to your credit alone, you love me despite this.

As a parent I am so often torn between protecting you and preparing you.  You are well aware that I err toward the side of preparation.  When you lose a parent, that transition is difficult enough without then having the realization that they never taught you how to be truly self-sufficient.  But I am realizing perhaps I  should have been more balanced, as I discover you identify as a lone wolf.  And as I find myself still alive and here for you.

You often express you wished you had an older brother.  I know why.  It's hard to have the burden you have on your shoulders.  Yes, it's made them very strong, but you don't feel you have anyone to share it with and, sometimes, it would be nice to have someone to give you some advice.  Or have dealt with or be able to deal with a specific issue you are facing.  Or just someone you trust implicitly with whom you can talk (who isn't your parent, the root of more than a few problems which warrant discussion).

I have to admit these teenage years are difficult for me so far.  As you grow into humans who lash out and judge and develop your own lives and identities as more than my children I find myself stepping back, hiding a little.  I find myself detaching out of fear of rejection.  But I also find myself in awe of the person you have become.  I find myself proud of your accomplishments and excited for your future.  I find myself nostalgic for the little boy who wouldn't let me put him down but grateful that I never really did despite people admonishing me and letting me know that I was spoiling you.  I believe that level of physical devotion and love as an infant, baby and young child provided a foundation of emotional support that helped to prepare you for all the hardships we have known and all the times we've been apart.

I compare myself to you and I feel like I am nothing.  Or at best, minuscule.  And then I remember a few things.  One, I should never compare myself to someone else.  My only measure should be against me.  Two, you are my son.  And all that awesomeness didn't materialize out of thin air, I had a tiny part in it.  Three, you love me in a way that doesn't exist in a vacuum.  So I can't possibly be nothing.

Here's to our decade and a half of life together.  I love you more than I can express through writing and in more dimensions than we currently know exist.

Mama