One day, about a year ago, I stopped to pick up a prescription for my 19-year-old son, who has epilepsy. The pharmacist told me that my insurance company wouldn't let me get any more pills that month. I knew this was wrong. We had just seen the doctor, who had adjusted one of my son's four medications. The pharmacist and I talked and argued, and the problem got solved, but I felt uneasy as I walked away. My son needs to learn do this himself, I thought.

I've been managing my son's epilepsy since he was 7, when we first met with his pediatric neurologist. In addition to the doctor's visits, appointments for tests, hospital stays, medicines, and trips to the pharmacy over the years, I also met with school nurses and teachers to go over safety and educational plans. I met with camp counselors and tutors and had side conversations with parents before sleepovers. After 12 years of this work, I'm an expert at handling my son's epilepsy. In fact, I'm embarrassed at how easy it's been to remain in charge of his medical needs.

But now I'm feeling panicked. How will he ever survive after his dad and I are gone? The few times I tried to turn management over to him, I would stand outside his bedroom door in the morning and nervously await the sound of his pill alarm. Then I stopped waiting and just woke him up myself. After that, he stopped setting his alarm. Why bother when he has me?

Twice a year I drive him an hour each way to see his pediatric neurologist. Every morning I walk into his room and wake him with a handful of pills. Every week I call the pharmacy and refill his prescriptions. Each time there is a problem with a refill, I get it fixed. I've been doing it for so long, I don't know how to stop.

But I must. So I try again. Recently I found a local doctor whose office is on a bus line. The three of us have met three times, and when I go with my son next month it will be for the last time. My son will need to start telling the doctor his own story.

After months of nonstop nagging, my husband and I have finally gotten our son to remember to take his medication. Next step: teach him to order refills on his own. He must also learn to interact with the pharmacy and the doctors and the insurance company, that Bermuda Triangle of prescription frustration.

There are other skills along the ladder to independence: advocating for himself with vocational rehab and disability services, negotiating transportation issues, and safety management. If he ever drives, he will need to learn to negotiate with yet another bureaucracy.

I don't simply have to learn to let go, as most parents do; I also need to teach my son how to take charge of necessary, complicated tasks and help him tell his story to people who can help. Then I need to step away to let him take care of his own health. Ironically, after all this time, the hardest part of managing my son's epilepsy is not managing it.

Amy L. Cornell is a freelance writer and mother of two who lives and works in Bloomington, IN. She would love to hear from other parents of children with epilepsy who want to share their experiences. Feel free to email her at amylcornell@gmail.com.