I miss my little boy

I Miss my little boy. With the spark in his eyes. Who giggled all evening the first time he rode a tricycle.

I miss my little boy. The feet that ran, fell and rose again. The smile that would enliven my spirits any day.

I miss my little boy. Who would hide behind me each time he saw a fire brigade because he was scared of them. And I miss my little boy who tried hard not to tell me he was scared.

I miss my little boy who soon thought I was being dominating when I asked him about his girlfriend. Who has transformed into this smart young man with dreams. With success.

The spark in his eyes is missing. It has diffused into mist that often condenses into tears and rolls down my eyes.

He does not hug me any more when he is scared. But I know, on several occasions he cries out of loneliness.

My little boy who carries my blood in his veins has grown up now.

What does one call it?

Maturity that adulthood brings?

The cycle of time that is ever-changing?

Or people who forget the value of relationships that matter?

I miss you my little boy. Despite the cheques you send me every month. Despite the three sentence emails that I receive every weekend. Despite the well-furnished house you bought for me.

And I know somewhere deep inside, you miss me too - this person that you call your mother.