As I watch my son pack up his life's treasures and belongings into the back of his Honda CRV I can't stop the tears welling up in my eyes. Just yesterday he was my 5lb 2oz baby boy and today he is a broad shouldered, strong young man. There is an unmistakable twinkle in Caleb's bright blue eyes and a lightness in his barefoot steps. He is ready for independence and freedom. Itching to get out there and find out who he is and what he is made of.
My motherly instinct is to grab him and wrap him in a tight embrace, protect him from the harsh world he is about to hurl himself into. I want to warn him of all that could go wrong. I want to shield him and myself from the disappointments and hardships he will face. But I must let him go. I must encourage him and wish him well despite my fears and anxieties. They are mine to bear, not his. This is his moment to fly.
I help him pack, load and unload. I stop at the store in between loads to buy him a few things I know he will need. I pad his boxes with extra rolls of paper towels and toilet paper. I beef up his kitchen supplies with duplicates from my kitchen and some new pieces. I hold back my strong desire to begin organizing his apartment the way I know it should be. Instead I pile the boxes up in the empty rooms making passing comments and suggestions about where things could go.
At the end of the day my son is moved into his apartment. I hug him goodbye.
"I love you so much, Caleb. If you need anything, anything at all.."
"I know, Mom", Caleb stops me, hugs me back. "Thank you, Mom. I love you, too."
I cry all the way home.
Change is here. It's all around me. I cannot stop it. I must embrace it and go with it.
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