Raising five children has been a wonderful experience. I was constantly busy, always on the move, doing various things, and thoroughly enjoying watching my children grow into the adults they are today. I mistakenly thought that my role as a mom would end once they grew up and started their own families, but I couldn't have been more wrong!

For the second half of my life, I imagined I could just relax, watch my favorite television shows, and enjoy hot, buttered popcorn while lounging on the couch with my legs up. I would play Words with Friends on my iPad, and catch up on Facebook. I would visit and play with my grandchildren and enjoy the stories shared by their parents. For instance, my grandson Alejandro came in second in a statewide wrestling match. Like my son Francis, who had to choose sports such as swimming and wrestling due to his poor vision, Alejandro had to find a sport where he could excel despite his diminutive size of less than five feet, and wrestling has been perfect for him. My granddaughter Izzy won an award for selling 350 boxes of Girl Scout cookies, and my granddaughter Rosie caught a three-foot-long fish that her dad prepared with Ritz cracker crumbs and lots of butter. While I have been enjoying my grandchildren, it is my own children who occupy most of my worries.

My son, Francis, who lives in Silicon Valley, California, continues to work for a well-known computer company, whose name I cannot disclose due to confidentiality (hint: it is named after a piece of fruit). He is very successful and recently purchased a new, bigger house, complete with an extra bedroom for Hubby and me to visit. His vision issues have not held him back at all; the only things he cannot do are drive and read print. He gets a chauffeured ride to and from work and makes enough money to take his family on lavish, expensive vacations. Unfortunately, when his son, Sam, was born four years ago, the birthing process did not go well, resulting in serious brain damage that has affected Sam's development. Sam is a sweet child but has no impulse control. Even at the age of four, he must be carried everywhere, which is challenging for Francis' wife, who has disabilities of her own. Although Sam can walk, he will run indiscriminately if let loose, which can be very dangerous. Anytime they fly, Sam screams to get out of the car seat restraints and throws anything he can get his hands on, such as his sippy cup with milk, which lands several seats ahead, striking the head of a passenger. I love Sam, who excitedly recognizes me during our Facetime calls, telling me wild stories in gibberish I cannot understand. My first-born, successful, capable son has had his life changed forever, and as his mom, I worry about him.

My daughter, Marie, has connected with others who are deaf, often meeting them online. She has a history of eloping to live with these new acquaintances, often with disastrous consequences. Once, she was lured out of her group home into a van full of people who are deaf and driven to Jacksonville, Florida. There, she was stripped of her ID and phone and forced to beg on street corners. By the time Homeland Security located her, she had lost several pounds, and the sparkle was gone from her eyes. When I picked her up, she only had a bottle of water and half a package of saltine crackers in her backpack. She also told me she had been hospitalized for a cocaine overdose, which they had given her in an attempt to hook her on drugs and force her to beg for money. Since returning home, Marie has gone to live with others she has met online, contacting me months later when she wants to return home. While her search for a good relationship is not much different from other young adults, with her history and disabilities, I worry about her.

My son, Angel, has had a difficult life. Severely abused before we adopted him at the age of three, he has been plagued with Dissociative Identity Disorder. This challenging diagnosis has led to years of torment for him. He has refused to integrate the parts, the recommended treatment. (Angel's parts are so well ensconced that his feeling was that it would be committing "abortion" to merge them, as each part has its own personality and life story.) We eventually had to have him removed from the family home when one of his "bad" parts attacked my son Steven with a knife, thinking he was one of his abusers. After a stay at Butler Hospital, Angel moved to Florida several years ago to be with one of his biological brothers. We lost touch after he changed his phone number. About a month ago, he contacted me tearfully asking for a little money. He has had several difficult years in Florida, being hospitalized for "seizures" several times and placed on anti-seizure medication. It seems that when he is out, different personalities take over, and he will wake up by the side of the road, not knowing who or where he is. When the police find him, he says he must have had a seizure, and they transport him to the hospital, where his actual diagnosis is not disclosed. Amid his tears, he admitted that he had been homeless for about six months, living in his car with his two dogs. He made money by doing Door Dash orders, but his car had broken down and he had nowhere to go. My heart broke when I found out, and I have since arranged for the Homeless Coalition to help him. I worry about him.

Being a parent is a lifelong job. I may not be changing diapers, taking children to soccer practice and attending school meetings, but my life will always be full of concern for them. I worry about them.

To read more about my early adventures with my challenging children, please read "The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids with Disabilities and Remaining Sane," available on Amazon. Thank you!!