When do they teach you how to let them go?

My baby got big. He got all big and grown up and then he started thinking about moving away. About moving on.

That means I’ve done my job well, right? That means that through divorce and illness, through financial hardships and guilt, I managed to do ok by him. That means through all those tearful evenings worrying about whether I’m doing the right thing, some of the decisions and choices I made might have been good ones. All those days of encouraging him to do his homework/empty the dishwasher/do his piano practice, they are all but over now. Buying his winter coat and shoes may still come down to me, but choosing his bedtime story won’t. I might be called on to lend him my car so he can take his girlfriend to town, but it won’t be my job to check he’s got the right change for a cappuccino. I don’t even remind him to brush his teeth anymore. Well, not EVERY day…

Knowing I’ve done all these things that ultimately mean he can make his own way in the world, does give me sense of pride and enormous love. Doesn’t make it any easier to let him go, though.

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