The WBM

When my son was two, I taught him how to respond to the most important question I could think of, “Just in case anyone asks; who has the World’s Best Mom?” I would ask. I taught him to say, “I do!” “Who has the World’s Best Mom?” “I do!” It eventually morphed into “Who has the WBM?”

I asked him that question once or twice a week up until about two years ago. My son is 18 ½ now and I don’t ask him any more. It’s not because he wouldn’t play along, it’s because I can’t bring myself to ask.

It's because I wouldn’t believe his answer.

Somewhere between his 15th and 17th birthdays, the sparkly officially sanctioned WBM tiara slipped off my head and shattered (why didn’t anyone tell me it was so fragile??!!). When I bent over to collect the pieces so I could gorilla glue it back together, I over-reached to grab one of my big shiny tiara gems, and my glittery WBM sash ripped right up the back (and NOT on the seam). Then, in my non-stop over-reaching which (I admit) I tend to do, I irrevocably soiled my cornflower blue custom-made WBM waving glove.

Without my sparkly WBM tiara to light the way, we have both been a little lost. He wandered off, and I don’t know how to find him. I sometimes see another boy who is a dead ringer for my son. I always think it’s him until I look very closely into his eyes. They look a little clouded and confused, maybe even scared. He turns and walks away into the shadows again. What happened????? Who is that boy?? And…Where Is My Son???

On rare occasions, my son emerges from the shadows and comes to me. His eyes are bluer than purple...clear and focused. I know it’s my son because his eyes tell me things about my son that only my son could know. Then, suddenly, he’s gone again.

So that’s why I stopped asking my son our question. Because if I was the WBM, I would have been able to hang on to my sparkly officially sanctioned WBM tiara, my glittery WBM sash, and my cornflower blue custom-made WBM waving glove. But most importantly, if I really was the WBM, I would have been able to hang on to my son.

So, I wait, recalling our past visits as a silent reminder that he is still my boy, and that he needs to go into the darkness, alone, without me and my sparkly tiara to guide him. I tell myself that when he comes back for good, he will feel deeper, richer, more at home with himself for the experience.

When that happens I’ll say, “Just in case anyone asks, who has the World’s Best Mom?” I know he will look at me, laugh and say, “I do.” And I will believe him, because I did what the World's Best Mom needed to do. Even though I let him go into the darkness, alone and unguided…

I waited where he could see me.