10 is where we stand at the precipice of some big unknown.

I expected this while traversing through the land of nine, through which I marched alert and ready – noting every time he reached for my hand before crossing a street, the teetering ratio of “mom” to “mommy;” tracking the fading interest in trains and fast cars and the growing intrigue for computers and mechanics.

10 is where cancer came back to meet mommy for the fourth time. 10 is where he starts wondering out loud what it means that it keeps coming back, and when, if ever, it will stay away for good.

10 is where we began to discuss death, the frailty of humanity. All living things will one day die – nothing on this earth, including us, will live on forever.

10 is where we learned about the birds and the bees, sitting on the couch one Tuesday afternoon when he couldn’t understand how an unwed woman could possibly become pregnant.

10 is also where he began asking big questions about his birth and adoption stories and wondering – out loud – what his birth mom might have looked like.

10 is where a sweet ignorance gives way to a little more reality.

10 is where innocence gives way to a deeper understanding of this fallen world.