It’s an Impossible Joy.
Yesterday, Dylan turned 20. Something about the zero on the end of that number – or maybe the two at the beginning – made this birthday feel like it was … different.
Dylan is officially not a teenager. In a year, he’ll be a legal adult in every way. He still looks like my child, my wild child who ran through the backyard, climbing and jumping and inventing his own games just to keep himself entertained. He still looks like the toddler who came running into my arms, gleefully knocking me to the ground.
But he also looks like the teenager who couldn’t turn in his work on time, who wouldn’t turn his mistakes into successes. He looks like the guy who wailed at me from the floor that he just wanted to die because everything was so hard. And he looks like the superstar who sang on stages and got standing ovations from the crowds.
So knowing that he is 20, and seeing him … just being him … it’s an impossible joy. It’s hard to hold back this kid – this man – and at the same time, it’s so hard to let him go.
But it’s also wonderful that he’s made it this far, that he’s lived this long, that he’s become such an incredible human being. He’s not just a musician; he’s empathetic almost to a fault. He’s brilliant and unfocused and insane; he’s lovable and sensitive and sweet.
And he’s tough. By God, he’s tough. He made it through so much already, so many feelings and situations and just-plain-tough stuff, there’s no way he could have survived them if he hadn’t been so brave, so tough, so strong.
Even though it feels like I am letting him go, I am enjoying the sideline view. I’m loving watching him be an adult, be such a beautiful person, be the man he always dreamed of becoming.
I miss my baby. But Dylan is the man I always wanted my baby to become.