I was cracked in the head with a wooden baseball bat when I was five. I still have the bump if you’d like to see it. My parents called our country Doctor who asked if my head was dented in or out. Some aspirin and an ice pack later I was good to go. As a kid, I believed my parents when they said I would be ok. There are outliers of course. Parents who don’t tell the lie convincingly, and kids who are savvy beyond their years. Or situations where you can say whatever you want but nobody’s buying it. Most of the time though, it is the lie we need and receive willingly.

I say it’s a lie because once you become a parent you realize the terrible truth. We have incredibly little control over how “ok” our kids are. The moment they release you from the hospital you are 100% responsible for this beautiful cranky creature with opaque desires and constant needs. This is when you see the real equation. It’s your will and the will of the child against a world full of natural dangers, willful dangers, and your fallible ignorance. It would be more honest to say to our children, “You’ll likely survive this smashed finger, but I can’t guarantee it.”

Becoming a parent made me appreciate the saying “Life is precious” because I also learned that life is precarious. I am mortal, and so are my children. We are alive and we could die, will die someday.

I’m middle-aged now. My children are still growing into humans of their design, and the world is still out there. Some of it awful, some of it wondrous. So, we teach them to see both and equip them with all the discernment and intelligence we can. We build their confidence and show them the strength in humility.

I’m confused by parents who are bereft when their kids go to college. I have a bucket list of things to do once they both leave the nest. As I get closer to the first one leaving though, I think there is a truth to uncover. It isn’t sadness as much as it is fear. Is this how a mama bird feels? It’s time to fly little one, and I hope you do because the alternative is tough and I’ve taken you as far as I can.

I’m lucky enough to have my parents still with me. They live nearby, so I have a front-row seat to their navigation of aging. They are mostly ok. Fair to middling. I’m not sure of my role anymore. When they have real health issues that require attention, is my job to dust them off or sit them down for some truth? I think we are all too old at this point to believe that everything will be ok. Is it better to leave a truth unsaid sometimes? My gut reaction is no, but I’m in my forties. Perhaps by my seventies, I will learn that the truth is still the truth, but there is grace in not waving it around at people.

When someone I love is hurting, I comfort them with words and then hug them tightly. To be honest, the hug is as much for me as them. I want to glue them with my love. As I squeeze them, willing them to adhere back together like obedient pie crust, I’m telling myself it will be ok, too. Sometimes we all need the lie.