PAMELA JO BOWMAN – MESA ARIZONA – My children are no longer children. At least three of them are not. How did that happen? I tried to enjoy every moment I could with them. And they grew up anyway. They have thoughts I do not know or even anticipate. They have dreams they have never whispered to me in the still of bedtime moments. They have memories that do not include me. They have pictures of places I have never been and they know people I will never know.

My children find me … irritating. I know they talk about me behind my back. Not in a bad way. I am confident that they share laughter about my behavior or irrational moments. I have become the glue that binds my family together. I provide common conversation for them. “Remember when Mom….” Then laughter erupts and subsides when I enter the room. Funny, but I am not offended. I embrace this new place and time I am in. Those quarreling youngsters have evolved into young adults. I love watching them because my children are becoming best friends. What a joy.

My children will, in the coming years, have children of their own. I hope they are so close to their children that they breathe in their baby’s breath and hold in their childhood secrets. I hope they learn when to keep quiet and never to keep quiet for long. I hope the love they have expands until their children laugh at them when sibling rivalry turns to revelry.

My children are no longer children, but they will always be mine.