By Emaline Ashe 
Collective memories from my son Aiden’s childhood are some of my most prized possessions. Reflecting on these memories is both comforting and bittersweet.
We moved to our small, coastal town when Aiden was a tiny preschooler. In the past 13 years, he’s morphed from a shy young boy to a self-assured six-foot-tall high school senior.
Everywhere I turn in our tiny community, I envision scenes from Aiden’s past.
Yesterday, I drove by our local basketball court, which doubles as an outdoor roller hockey rink. Aiden was in elementary school when he first learned to rollerblade there, and then competed in kids’ hockey.
One day, just outside the rink, Aiden got into his first fistfight with his good friend, Matt. They grappled over who would get the community goalie gear, and neither boy would concede.
I’ll never forget the exasperated phone call from Matt’s mom telling me how Aiden and Matt got physical with one another and then shed tears about their heated disagreement. Luckily, the boys’ wounds healed, the friendship continued, and they learned to play fair.
Walking on the beach last week, I thought about Aiden’s middle school junior lifeguard camp. He and a half dozen other kids became highly proficient swimmers in our community pool. When each kid was strong enough, the coach let them swim in the ocean against the East Coast current with the aid of a buoy. This camp helped shape Aiden into a brave swimmer who isn’t afraid of waves or the unknown that lurks underneath them.
I often ride my bike on a trail that served as a physical education for Aiden’s online school year during the COVID-19 shutdown. He and I would pedal for three miles, stop at a nature preserve to rest, hydrate, and have an impromptu science lesson. Then, we’d bike the three miles back home and record our activities. We both learned how outdoor adventures could ease our worries, and time spent with loved ones was more fun than going solo.
Walking outside conjures simple reminders, like Aiden riding scooters and bikes with the girl across the street. He and his neighbor friend were complete opposite personalities who fought as much as they played.
She was a limit pusher who always tried to persuade Aiden to go further than he was allowed, but my rule-following boy wouldn’t budge. Aiden learned a lot from her about letting go and living in the moment.
This year, Aiden graduates from high school and will attend a prestigious culinary school, one that is almost a thousand miles away. And our family will be entering uncharted territory.
My son will become independent, and my husband and I will become empty nesters.
After investing 17 years into my son’s care and upbringing, the impending downsizing of my role feels strange. But I’m slowly easing into it by rediscovering passions I once enjoyed. Writing is one of those, and I published a short memoir last year.
These precious memories I hold onto, the ones Aiden made all over this town, will hopefully serve as sources of comfort while he is far away from home. And they will always be beautiful reminders of the most important job I’ve ever held and will continue to hold: the role of a mother.
by Cherith Fluker 
by Amy Keyes 
