As I send my oldest off to college,
I'm beginning a new series that will post throughout the year.
I'm calling it my Separation Anxiety Series.
All the separation goes to Kyle and I'm stuck with the anxiety.
And I was doing better too. Hadn’t cried in over 22 hours. My eyes were just to the point of deswelling and the gigantic gaping ache in my heart slowed to a smaller, more tolerable throb.
Kyle’s text negated all that.
Not that I didn’t want to hear from him, because I did. But knowing he was so far away—an unhuggable, unreachable distance—made me want to wrap my arms around him even more.
Things change. Time grows our children. Life opens up new doors. I know this. I expected this. I even wanted this.
But still—change hurts. Even when it’s good.
Last weekend, my husband and I moved Kyle, my oldest child, to college. Four hours away. It’s what’s supposed to happen. I birthed him, I raised him, I loved him, and now I let him go. It’s the clichéd natural order of things.
Only letting go is not that easy when you actually have to do it.
When you have someone in your life for eighteen years and you worry about him, pray and anguish over his relationships, his heart, and his health for 6570 days, 22 hours, 37 minutes, and 15 seconds, he’s kind of stuck to you. A part of you.
And that’s not easy to shake.
My role in Kyle’s life has changed. I know that. But it’s going to be a journey. At least for me. He’s having the time of his life and I’m glad.
I’ll let you know how it goes for me. I'm sure God has lots to teach me as I transition from hoverer to distant advisor.
Love you—I reread the text. Wiped away a tear. And straightened my shoulders.
Love you more—I texted back.
Some things won’t change and for that I’m grateful.
Have you ever have trouble letting someone go?
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