Love and fear grow intertwined like honeysuckle vines. You cannot disentangle one from the other.
Your vast love for your child braids endlessly with your overwhelming fear of loss.
Your worry is a measure of your love.
Sometimes you protectively hold on against your better judgement, knowing full well that love asks that you let go.
And you do, release, reluctantly, with trepidation, over and over again and afterwards, always, there is some mourning under the relief that all went well, after all.