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Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring feels accountable for their own actions? Is there a moment when a Mama becomes detached in the lives of her children and shrugs, "It's their life" and feels nothing?

When I was in my 20's I stood in two different hospital rooms in different years while doctors monitored blood transfusions for two of my young children. I cried and asked, "When do you stop worrying?” The doctor said, “Tests show she has leukemia but I do not believe it.”
I fainted. When revived I tried to smile but I said nothing.

In my 30's I was another hospital room as doctors performed a breast biopsy on my teenage daughter. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The doctors said, "When they are grown."
I smiled in relief when she was cleared and said nothing.

When I was in my 40's, I sat in a hospital in another town with yet another child seeking a second opinion of Pseudopapilledema. After a spinal tap the doctor said, “Don’t worry. It's just a look-a-like.”
Sick with the flu I smiled weakly and said nothing.

A CB radio crackled in my office with notice of an accident downtown. The car described was driven by my 16 year-old daughter. I raced to the emergency room. When I asked the doctor if she was hurt he said, “Don’t worry, she’s fine”.
I smiled with unbelievable relief but said nothing.

I spent a lifetime waiting for phones to ring, cars turning in the driveway, the front door to open and a tip-toe closing my door. I fretted over where they were and their father said, “Don’t worry…in a few years they will be adults and have children of their own”. Then, he'd explode.
I prayed, held my breath, tried to smile but said nothing.

By the time I was 50, college campuses and wedding bells had taken center stage. I was vulnerable with worry over my children and a new wrinkle called sons-in-law and grandchildren.

My 50's and 60's shaped me into a "listening post". I soared with their college graduations, beautiful weddings, careers, gorgeous homes and motherhood. I anguished over their acknowleged failures, was tormented by their frustrations and was absorbed in their disappointments. A young son-in-law died in a horrific highway accident and I withdrew into my sorrowful shell.

The fairy tales said that when my children became adults I’d stop worrying and lead my own life. I believed that but was haunted by my mother’s occasional questions, “Are you alright, you look pale: you’ve lost weight. Are you sick?”

Today in my 70's I am haunted by the face in the mirror framed by silver hair and have accepted that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry.

Our four children, who all live out of town, frantically called our neighbors recently when our telephone was busy for hours. “Why was the phone busy all that time? I’ve been calling for hours, I was WORRIED”.
I smiled and said nothing.