What, me worry?

A friend who, like me, has a child in her mid-20s posed a question the other day that's been nagging at me for some time: When does parenting end?

The short answer? It doesn't.

I figured it wouldn't help to tell my friend about my 97-year-old mother's world-class ability to worry about her five offspring. Her latest obsession is my older brother's decision, made decades ago, to stop going to church. She has made it her personal mission to pray him back to the fold. Good luck with that one, Mom.

Worrying is like a muscle: The more it's used, the stronger it gets. And who worries more -- or better -- than parents?

We wake up in the middle of the night to check on our babies and make sure they're still breathing.

We fret over any hint that they might not be developing at the same speed as the baby next door. (What's that? You say your little girl STILL hasn't taken her first step? Why, just the other day our little Gloria climbed the stairs ALL BY HERSELF!)

We worry that our kids will continue to cry long after we leave them at day care, when, in fact, they forget about us five minutes after we say goodbye.

We lose sleep over their first report cards (What is WRONG with that teacher?) and examine every new tooth as it comes in, wondering how we'll ever pay for braces.

Then one day they're adolescents and we find ourselves longing for the good old days when diaper rash was their biggest problem.

My children gave me plenty of opportunity to exercise my worry muscle. I found solace in sharing my concerns with parents in the same boat. It took awhile, and a lot of talking and sharing, to realize that worrying wasn't getting me anywhere but depressed. It wasn't changing anything either.

And that's the trap we worriers set for ourselves. All the time we spend worrying saps us of the energy we need to think clearly and decide how to respond, not just react, to the troubles our children get into. Once we figure out how to do that, we can begin to let go, stop trying to solve our children's problems for them -- and let them grow up. The feeling of release you get when you reach that point is beyond belief. You sleep better, too.

When does parenting end? I hope it never does -- at least, not completely. I want my grown children to see in me someone they can turn to for advice, someone willing to listen when they just need to vent.

Now, if they'd just go to church ...