I knew this day would come.
It had to, because we all grow up and, symbolically, separate from our parents.
It’s an important step in our journey to adulthood.
But he is my baby.
I knew I would never be ready for him to push me away, no matter how long I had been preparing (or dreading) this day.
It’s started completely innocuously.
No extra hugs goodnight – just going to bed independently.
Not asking to talk when I call.
Today, I was scolded: “I told you about my day. What more should we talk about?”
Maybe I just wasn’t ready to hang up.
I’m missing his concert tonight to be at class.
I was feeling guilty.
He seemed “fine.”
This is how it’s supposed to go, right?
It’s healthy and “normal.”
I am sitting on the floor of my bedroom closet, surrounded by baby books and memory boxes.
What if I’m not ready – not as fine?