Separation Anxiety

How can I tell?
How shall I know?
When are you old enough to go?
When do you stop being a child?

You wobble at first, walking upright in sheer defiance of gravity,
Each downward slam of foot a deliberate effort to prevent otherwise-certain prostration,
Then gradually you gain your legs, and soon you gamely walk, skip, frolic, and dance,
And can look, in motion, off to the side or into the sky without calamity.
This is your sense of balance.
And this is a blessing,
And now you can stand on your own.

With mobility then comes the urge to explore – Adventure! –
Paired with the equal urge to cling that much stronger
To me, to your mother, we who mean home to you.
With every stepping out you test your knowledge and judgment in the world
And with every misstep you cling (albeit more and more briefly) to those
Who brought you into this world,
Your guides into adulthood,
Just as they make missteps and afterward cling to you
(Largely in gratitude that their mistakes were not too severe, as evidenced by your survival).
Then gradually you gain your strength, your judgment, your agility in adjusting to the shifting circumstances that you face,
And you make your own personal choices that adapt to the conditions around you and that have no fatal consequences.
These are the beginnings of common sense.
And this too is a blessing,
And you can walk on your own out into the world,
Knowing when to step, when to stand still, and when turn back to home.

This is how I tell.
This is how I know.
I will gradually become less and less necessary.
You will gradually share more and more your friendship, your love,
While looking back neither for approval, nor advice, nor direction,
And gradually I will look to you for less and less of these things.

And I will never tell.
And I will never know.
And I will always love you.
And you will always be my infant child.
Your glow of trusting, innocent warmth
Long ago laid a foundation in my heart.

Still today you find comfort in my arms
And still today you give comfort back in kind.