Watchwords for understanding life as a mother

It wasn't the first word I ever spoke. (My mother swore that was "go.") But the first word I learned to heed was "watch."

"Watch what you're doing."

"Watch where you're going."

"Watch your manners."

"Watch your mouth."

"Watch your brothers."

"Watch this, y'all."

I've done a lot of watching. I'm good at it. It's a handy skill for two reasons. One, I write about life and whatever comes along. If you stay alive and keep watching, things keep coming along. Good or bad, you've got something to write about.

Two, I'm a mother. Mothers watch. We do other things, too — cook, clean, calm, soothe, teach, train, hope, pray. But watching is high on the list.

I thought of that recently as I watched my youngest teach his 4 year old how to tie his shoes.

Their heads bowed low, almost touching. Same hair, thick and curly, but different colors, copper red for the 4 year old, sandy brown for his dad.

Their hands were identical except in size, one pair small and delicate, the other big and strong, working together, trial and error, that's it, you've got it, laughter and laces and loops.

I wish you could've seen them.

I don't know who was prouder, my boy or his boy or me.

How long had it been since I watched my son sit on the floor with his dad learning to tie his shoes? More than 30 years? How was that possible?

That sobering thought brought a flood of memories from all the times I've spent watching that boy grow up to be a man.

When he was born, he didn't cry. Instead, he blinked into the lights as if trying to decide what planet he was on. Then his eyes found mine and the look on his face seemed to say, "Oh, there you are, Mom. I was looking for you. What's for dinner?"

That's when I had the vision. Staring into his newborn soul, I saw the man he would grow up to be: Strong like his brother, smart like his sister, a dreamer like his mama, a hard worker like his dad. He looked good.

For years, I watched as he did lots of things. Ride a bike. Flip a skateboard. Shoot a jump shot. Play piano. Drive the neighbors crazy banging on his drums.

He was fun to watch, usually. But I also had to watch him struggle as a teenager in the years his dad battled cancer. To see the look in his eyes watching the strongest man he ever knew grow too weak to walk. To feel my heart break as I watched him sit with his dad the night he died whispering a last goodbye.

I didn't want to see any of that. But to watch a child grow up, you can't look away when things get hard. You have to see it all.

In the darkest of hours, when your heart is breaking, it helps to have a vision, a slim, stubborn hope for happier days ahead.

That's what I had, a gift the boy gave me when he was born, one of the best gifts of my life.

He's grown now, but I'm still watching. That's what mothers do. Children grow up and we grow older, but we never really let them out of our sight.

These days, I watch him being a husband to his wife, a father to his two boys and a teacher, like his dad, to his third-graders.

Last week I watched him rip out a kitchen, feathering the nest for a baby girl on her way.

In everything he does, I see the realization of the vision he gave me when he was born. I hope somehow his dad sees it, too.

I told you all that to say this. If you are hurting for a child, my heart goes out to you. I wish I could tell you not to worry, that everything will be all right. But I can't give you a vision for your child's life. You have to see it for yourself and believe in it, come what may.

Years ago a friend sent me a card with these words: "Just when you think you will never smile again, life comes back."

It does.

Take my word for it.

Keep watching.

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Award-winning essayist Sharon Randall's weekly column has an estimated readership of 6 million nationwide. Born and reared in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North and South Carolina, Randall grew up in Landrum, S.C., and has lived for 35 years in "California of All Places."