Is there a time ever when a mother stops fearing for the safety of her children? We are given these precious beings and every moment of their growing is filled with danger and trepidation. Our feelings of danger and trepidation... Our role as 'protector' and 'safety officer' is way up there, the perceived dangers from our perspective oftentimes huge and monstrous... necessitating constant vigilance and oversight.

You all know we recently - and on the spur of the moment - took some few days off to visit friends up North. I had to call my mother twice a day, morning and evening to 'check in' and assure her we were all fine and yes nothing had gone wrong in-between. Sounds ludicrous right? Here I am a grown woman with two grown sons, and yet I felt compelled to do this - in the one instance we forgot, she called. Last night - having lost the car in the huge parking lot at the airport (again) we were a half hour late getting home. She called just as we were turning into our street. Yeah.

Here's the thing: I faced one such moment myself, and it made me stand back a little and think... thus this piece.

I have never actively 'shielded' my children from danger. I have always allowed them to explore the world at their own pace, trying new things when they felt themselves capable and ready. Whether it be surfing, diving off piers, skate and snow-boarding, I have never held them back.

Two days ago however, we (three adults - or four if you count Dylan who's just turned 18 - and five children ranging from 5 -16) spent part of the day at Crystal Cascades, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crystal_Cascades  - a place mostly only known to locals and only accessible by car - there are no tourist buses or day-trips offered to the area. (There's a reason, of course.) Basically it is a river, winding its way down and offering an uphill scramble over rocks, small waterfalls, strong currents, deep diving ponds... and here's where the issue arose.

I never made it past the first hurdle.  We were going uphill see, and we entered at the edge of one of the ponds... The bottom was hard to navigate through at first; you had to make your way around large and small submerged and very slippery rocks. Then it got deep enough to swim in, so I swam along with the rest, trying to reach the small waterfall and scramble over the top to get to the next area. Problem was, the current was so strong, I was getting nowhere at one point, (due to my back problem) so I swam to the side and climbed out of the water.

Shelly joined me, and we sat where our belongings were - the rest took off with only one 'adult' male (Darren) and Dylan... An hour later, Darren returned with the youngest child, the five year old.

"They're still going," he said. "I couldn't keep up any more."

So now we had Dylan, Marcus, two more sixteen year olds and a twelve year old making their way up...

"Will they be safe?" The words came from me. Darren shrugged his shoulders. As a man, I could sense his concern and his very obvious reluctance to voice this concern without 'losing face'.

"Who knows?" he said. "They're probably past the end of the path by now."

We sat for another ten minutes. There was a path running along the top, following the falls. I can't tell you what circulated in my mind those minutes - I'd seen two small plaques dedicated to young people who'd lost their lives in this river. I'd also heard stories of many others injured...

"Darren, how about we walk up, see where they are?" Me again.

He was way too quick to agree. My worry metre shot to the top and I heard this sound, similar to the 'bell' at carnivals when you smash the hammer down hard on that thingy and the other thingy flies up and reaches the bell?

So we started walking the uphill path. I caught glimpses of rapids, huge boulders, large deep swimming 'ponds' - until in the distance, and once we'd almost reached the end of the track, I spotted our group walking towards us. I counted heads. All present and all walking fine... My worry metre subsided.

We stood waiting for them at a spot overlooking a deep 'lake'. On the opposite edge of this lake was a long rope, and I watched as two guys began climbing this rope over the almost sheer side, reaching a spot at least 20 meters from the water then jumping in. A huge splash then a holding in of breath till I saw them surface...

"Hey mum, can I jump off?"

The worry metre thing again... Ding ding ding ding!!!!

"No!"

"What about from this side?"

'This side' was a ten to fifteen metre drop depending on where the jumper stood. It was accessible from the path we stood on, this 'accessibility' a navigation over a very slippery and steep side.

"No!"

"You've disappointed me."

He walked away, leaving me with those words. And a look.

"Go." The word flew out of my mouth. A combination of his slumped shoulders, his parting statement and that look... unfamiliar to me.

He didn't hesitate. Clambered over the rail, jumped several feet, then scrambled his way to the highest point. I stood. A statue. My eyes the only part moving, watching his body navigate to that ledge. A brief hesitation - I got that too. He was facing his own fear, now that his request had become a reality.

Then he plunged. Those precious seconds till I saw his head emerge from the frothy water. Grinning! I followed him as he was swept by the current, swimming to the side till eventually he reached the bank - and safety from the next drop.

Of course he did it again and of course the rest followed. He stood to one side, telling each one to jump out as far as they could. Only later did he tell me there were some large submerged rocks quite close to the edge, thus the need to leap out.

After several jumps, we started the return walk. I reached him and pulled him aside.

"I'm sorry. It was-"

"Mum, don't give me the 'I'm going to have my own kids one day then I'll understand' line. I get it."

My boy is a man. He gets it. As the oldest, he guided the younger ones. I got that too. Still, the demon fear - I fought it all the way home, passing the little plaques again. It could have all gone tragically wrong. One slip on the moss-covered rocks and...

But I had to stop projecting my fears see. They were mine. And he had fears of his own to face, they all did. I heard their stories on the walk back about fighting currents and slipping - and sure, there was the odd scratch and bruise. Mostly though, there was a sense of accomplishment and pride on that walk. Much retelling, voices filled with excitement and laughter as they recounted and pointed out each other's blunders...

A very important lesson. I didn't want to be my mother. I didn't want my children feeling 'obligated' to check in. I had to trust them and hand their lives over. My time of 'guarding' and 'protecting' was over.Over!

Will this fear ever leave me? Probably not. Every new adventure they embark on will have the worry metre ringing very loudly for me. What I won't do ever again though is project this on them. I have accepted the fact their lives will be full of similar moments. There will always be that element of risk, keeping me suspended and holding my breath. But these will be my moments, not theirs.

"Hey mum," Dylan said once we were back at our friends' house. "I've been thinking."

"Yeah?"

"I might finish the year here then continue my studies in Germany. They offer free tuition to overseas students."

Ding ding ding ding!!!!!

"Sounds great hon."

"You won't mind?"

"Ummm... I've been to Germany and it snows even in the summer there?"

"I don't mind. I like skiing and snow-boarding."

"If you're going to do this overseas thing next year... could you pick somewhere warmer?"

He laughed, knowing my relationship - or lack of one - with cold environments. "How often do you plan on visiting?"

Ouch.