Updated: Dec. 20, 2015
Originally Published: May 21, 2015
Six months ago, as my eldest son embarked on his final year of high school, I made a vow to myself. I even penned it in a blog post, convinced that this time around, with my second child, I would manage my emotions far better. Yet, as I sit here now, I realize my struggle to let go has been even more profound than I anticipated. Throughout the icy Minnesota winter, my heart has wrestled with a whirlwind of feelings—fear, joy, uncertainty—all intertwined with my son’s own tumultuous emotions. Attempting to disentangle them has proven nearly impossible. After all, how do you separate individual snowflakes during a snowstorm?
The whirlwind of college applications, ACT scores, and the endless cycle of anticipation and disappointment has left me feeling a mix of hope and despair. Acceptance letters bring elation, while rejections leave me deflated. He’s ready for this next chapter, yet I find myself wishing time could freeze. “Mom, just leave me alone!” he snaps during moments of teenage angst, followed by, “When will you be home?” Such contradictions tug at my heart—excitement coupled with agony, confusion reigning supreme.
As spring arrived and the days grew longer, I noticed a shift in my perspective. The warmth of the season began to melt away the heaviness that had settled in my chest. While my son’s college decision was made and graduation loomed, I still grappled with the unknowns that lay ahead. I celebrated the pride of having raised a son who is ready for this next step, but I also felt the weight of uncertainty. Letting go is a process that pulls at both of us, leaving emotional scars that linger. I’m certain he feels the tension, evident in the depths of his green eyes when he thinks I’m not looking.
I often wonder if he is as aware of the passage of time as I am. Is he savoring these final moments, or is he merely caught up in the present? As I strive to embrace each moment, thoughts inevitably drift to the end of summer. Soon, we will board a plane together, traveling 2,000 miles to his new home, but only he will stay behind. My husband and I will return, leaving him to forge a new life—one in which our daily routines and comforting embraces will become distant memories. The joy of hearing him tromp down the stairs each morning, or his familiar “Hi Mom, I’m hungry,” will fade into the past.
What remains will be sporadic phone calls and texts, where the nuances of his life will be filtered through his chosen words. I doubt he’ll voice his feelings of missing me, yet I am certain he knows I miss him immensely. The distance will not diminish my desire to support and love him, just as I have for the past 18 years.
Spring symbolizes transformation and the act of letting go, as the fear of the unknown melts away, making space for new beginnings. It’s the final phase of preparing an eaglet for its first flight, while the mother readies herself to release her child into the world.
The time is drawing near, yet I find myself wishing for just a little more time.
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In summary, the journey of letting go as a parent can be overwhelmingly emotional, filled with a mix of pride, fear, and anticipation as your child prepares to embark on a new chapter in life. Embracing each moment while navigating the transition is essential, even as the distance between you grows.