Tomorrow is the day.
My oldest son is moving to Michigan. I’ve had two months to prepare for this moment — two months since he told us he and his girlfriend are expecting a baby in September, and that he’d be leaving for school and to build his life with her.
Two months. And I still don’t feel ready.
Yesterday was my birthday. The whole family took the day off — no work, no school — and we just were together. Breakfast out, dinner out, and hours in between of just… being. It was the most perfect birthday I’ve ever had. And somewhere in the middle of it, it hit me: every day I got to have us all under one roof was a perfect day. I just didn’t always know it.
I used to dream about silence when my kids were little. Now the thought of it breaks me. No PlayStation sounds drifting from the living room. No banter between him and his sister. Just quiet where all that life used to be.
I am so proud of him. So excited for this new chapter he’s stepping into — fatherhood, school, love. He’s become such an incredible man. My heart is full of him.
But letting go? Nobody prepares you for this part of parenthood. Nobody warns you that the hardest thing you’ll ever do is raise someone wonderful enough to leave.
Tomorrow, my husband drives cross country with him. And I’ll stay here, learning what this next season looks like.
Parenthood is beautiful. And it is hard. And both of those things are true at the exact same time.
🤍