There’s something immensely gratifying about the ages my children have reached. I vividly recall attending my sister’s wedding in British Columbia years ago, when my children were still quite young. Meanwhile, my siblings’ kids were already navigating their tweens and teenage years, partaking in thrilling activities like zip-lining and fishing while I was bogged down by nap times and snack schedules. Oh, how I envied them!
Fast forward to now, with my kids aged 7 and 11, and the burdensome gear we used to lug around are a thing of the past. Whenever we see parents pushing strollers, my partner and I share a knowing look, both relieved to have moved beyond that phase.
Weekends are another area where life has dramatically improved. No longer do we dread Sunday evenings with a “Thank goodness it’s Monday!” Instead, we genuinely enjoy our weekends. Our family outings now revolve around activities everyone loves. In the mornings, while sipping coffee, we can relax as our kids entertain themselves for a few hours, marking a welcome shift in our routine. This newfound freedom unfolds gradually, and it feels perfectly timed.
But there’s a catch: their freedom means we have to let go, too.
My son now walks to school solo, phone in hand, and after classes, as long as he keeps us updated, he can ride bikes with friends. They explore the neighborhood, stopping for treats that I might otherwise deny. On some weekend mornings, he even takes his sister out for breakfast at the diner nearby. As they step out the door, my heart swells with pride and apprehension. I cherish their independence, yet a twinge of sadness lingers as I realize how each step brings them further away from me.
Their short walk to the diner will someday turn into a drive to a restaurant in another town or perhaps a train ride to the city. Eventually, it may lead to a flight to college and beyond. I sit back in my chair, relishing the quiet, but I can’t shake the thought that one day, home won’t be where they return after outings. They will carve their own paths and, inevitably, won’t need me as they once did.
This mix of pride and sorrow weighs heavily on me. My son will soon experience sleepaway camp for the first time; just two weeks apart, yet my heart already aches. Perhaps one day, my daughter will join him, allowing my partner and I to enjoy summer as just a couple. It will be a beautiful yet heartbreaking transition, as the initial thrill of freedom gives way to the realization that we have nurtured strong, independent children who can thrive without us. We’ll undoubtedly feel proud, but also a sense of loss.
With this freedom, we will once again enjoy date nights, strolls through the neighborhood, and time spent with friends. Yet, when I return home to an eerily quiet house, the emotional weight of it all will fully settle in.
All these thoughts swirl in my mind as my children walk toward that diner. I remind myself to savor this hour of solitude and enjoy the present, while also preparing for a future that feels both liberating and daunting.