It's my job

That's what I keep telling my son. Even though he is grown up. Even though he lives in his own flat. Even though he organises his own life. Even though he has lived away from home for nearly three years. Even though I'll be seeing him in a few months. Even though we both managed not to cry when he left the house today. I'm leaving the country, but I haven't resigned my post of Mum. He's my boy. It's my job to worry.