A Year of Last Firsts

Today was my oldest child's last first day of school. My baby boy. (Brace yourself for the following reminiscence.)

He was just as excited this morning as he was thirteen years ago when he walked into his kindergarten class. On that August morning he wore a little navy polo tucked into belted khaki shorts, buckskin shoes, a flattop haircut, and a huge smile across his face. He walked into that first classroom carrying a backpack half his size and a small potted plant for his teacher.

This morning he wears his favorite striped polo, jeans, baseball cap and same huge smile. He's excited to start this year. He couldn't wait to go back and see his friends and favorite teachers every day. He loves his class schedule and extra-curricular activities. And this year he escorts a younger sister to her locker in the freshman hallway.

I'm one smart mom who's not too old to remember what happens during a senior year. All these commitments translate to less time at home, less time around the dinner table, less hearing about his days, less conversation. I am fully aware that this is right and healthy, watching a child stretch their wings and prepare to fly. But that doesn't negate the fact that my heart is breaking as he pulls away.

Is there such a thing as a good grief? What important lessons should we reiterate to him in this last year at home? Have we equipped him to survive? Have we taught him well? I don't know. I cry. Then I pray. Then I wait. I expect to see a fantastic solo flight.

"Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22:6