I’m becoming irrelevant.
It began happening years ago, and slowly, but surely, it’s picked up speed.
I’m feeling a little like the Cheshire Cat, except instead of watching me dissolve into a grin, you’ll soon find an empty wallet where I used to be.
Years ago, the letting go was cause for a mother’s celebration: My help was no longer needed with feeding and dressing, craft projects or playing games.
Then it became a little melancholy: I wasn’t welcome on the walk to the bus stop. I wasn’t wanted at the movies or social outings.
These days I’m not needed for hair or makeup, in the kitchen (unless it’s to do dishes), or even in the laundry room.
I’m relegated to the waiting room in dentist and doctors’ offices.
Soon, even driving duties will soon be out of my hands.
Today, I was banned from the dressing room at Victoria’s Secret. It seems I am no longer the arbiter of the proper fit.
So I stood in the store and waited. Across the room from the man wearing a hang-dog expression, bright-yellow Big E T-shirt and Land’s End fanny pack.
We did not make eye contact, not even when we met up in the checkout line.