My nest is empty.

This week felt like a marathon. I come from a long line of procrastinators, and that gene never skips a generation. My son spent his last night at home, and even morning, packing up his life for his freshman year at college.

I have two sons, 18 and 20. Even though I’d sent one off to school already, I still surprised myself with the bittersweet emotions. In no way was I a hot mess, but there was a lot going on inside me yesterday as we hugged goodbye in his dorm room. My eyes glistened throughout the day.

No one ever prepares us for the repeated grief we experience as our children grow. It happens in the blink of an eye, and in slow motion all at the same time. I wish there was a way to know when each part of their childhood was about to end, so we could savor those last moments of holding our hand, playing games together or hugging in public. We never realize when the last hand-holding is over until it’s not happening anymore. I think we all would savor that moment with gratitude, if we knew. I suppose their independence is proof we did our jobs correctly. My sons are prepared to handle the world on their own, at least these parts of it. Still, I miss the feeling of their tiny hands in mine. Enough to cause my heart to ache a bit.

My favorite moments of move-in day were when each child hugged me…as frequently as I needed them to. It’s true when they say that kids eventually come full circle. The days of avoiding mom’s love in public are over! My heart smiles.

Parenting is an amazing process of learning to let go of our attachments, over and over again, and feeling good about it when it happens. Easier said than done. I miss those little boys. It tugs on my heartstrings to realize the childhood season of their lives is over. But I know that having an empty nest means I did my job. These young men are embarking on their journeys, and oh, the places they will go!

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Aug. 28, 2021 | (lindaghill.com)