So, Now That My Kids Are Older, I Don’t Have to Worry… Right?

My son Patrick and his band mates toured the Midwest recently. I followed their progress on Facebook as they drove from Connecticut to Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, Iowa, and Pennsylvania. In the photos, they’re young, beautiful, and smiling. I cheer along and always click the “heart button” underneath. Patrick’s doing what he loves.

So why can’t I stop worrying? I promised myself I’d be one of those cool moms. I’d let Patrick text me. I wouldn’t check on him everyday.

The Facebook pictures keep coming. In Indiana, Patrick sits atop the band’s van, smiling. He writes how happy he is. Travelling across the land and meeting new people are opening his eyes. Life is good.

Then comes the call the next day.

“We lost our brakes on I-80,” he says. “Somehow I used the emergency brake to get to the side. We got a tow to a garage and then hitchhiked to rent a U-Haul. We still have a gig tonight.”

My insides wither. And that’s when the hamster wheel, the one I had carefully stowed away, comes out. I picture the “what if’s.” What if that call had come from an Indiana State Trooper? “There’s been an accident.”

I tell myself nothing happened. All four are fine. They now have a war story to add to their “touring band” arsenal. And after everything, they made it to the gig. “It was one of the best shows we ever played,” Patrick says.

The rest of the tour goes well. The fans love them. I see Facebook pictures from Chicago where they stay in a rundown motel in what turns out to be a sketchy part of town (glad I learned this after the fact). Another shows Patrick in a Chicago music store, surrounded by his beloved Fenders and Gibsons.

The next day a picture displays him standing outside a Milwaukee bar at midnight, a friendly-faced man next to him. He’s a fellow musician, one of many Patrick meets. Everywhere they go, they’re impressed by the kindness of Midwesterners.

The band camps out most nights to save money. That also gets me worrying. Yes, four grown men are hardly a vulnerable group. Still, there are always stories.

Despite my earlier vow to be a cool mom, I text Patrick everyday. How are you? Where are you? Are you having fun?

They play a show in Iowa and then head off to Michigan. All this driving makes me nervous. Are they getting tired? Is there too much late night travel and not enough rest?

I’m grateful when they reach Michigan where they stay with the mother of Patrick’s girlfriend. There’s something soothing, knowing that Emily and her mom Maureen, will oversee good meals and hot showers.

Their last gig is Pennsylvania. But, first they must drive back to Indiana, get their repaired van, and return the U-Haul. They leave Michigan at 9:00 p.m., knowing they’ll drive all night and into the morning.

I wake at 3:00 a.m. thinking of my son cruising through the vast, dark Midwest plains. The hamster wheel wants to come out, but I keep it under the bed.

The next morning another Facebook picture appears. It shows the guys driving into a red and yellow sunrise somewhere in Ohio. They’re back in their van. The Indiana mechanics stayed up all night to get it repaired.

Seeing that image helps me feel better. But then it’s replaced by another unexpected emotion.

Envy.

What a great adventure, I think. What an incredible journey to make with your friends. I always wanted to jump in a car when young and go cross-country, but never did.

I picture Patrick and his buddies as old men someday talking about this experience. They made a dream come true. They brought their music to people thousands of miles away. They survived a near miss on I-80, but went on to play the best night of their lives.

The next morning they drive back to Connecticut. Finally my phone pings with the text I’d been waiting for. “We’re home.”

I give a prayer of thanks.

I tell myself Patrick’s a grown man with his own life. Am I still allowed to worry about my boy? And I know the answer is and always will be… yes.

Patrick posts one last picture of the trip on Facebook. And once again, I add my heart.

 

 

Can you ever turn off worry, even with grown kids? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share.

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For anyone interested, here’s the band’s Facebook page.