My son is 18 years old, as tall as me and in much better shape. He ate something bad yesterday and spent the day sick. As big as he is and as strong as he is and as much as he is a grown up who does not need me, yesterday he did. And I fussed over him and worried about him and took care of him. All day.
He may be big in size, but he is still the same boy I did laps around the kitchen humming and singing him to sleep to rock and roll oldies because I didn't know any lullaby so. He is mine. I will always worry about him. He is my son.
