It's Almost Time

Here I am, on the verge of tears again. Honestly, I had begun to wonder if something was wrong with me — I hadn’t been crying as much as I thought I would by now. I cried at times during Ethan’s junior year, just thinking ahead to this year, anticipating how hard it would be.

But during the school year, I hadn’t cried as much. And I know I tend to have delayed emotional reactions… but still, I started to worry that the medication I began (and slowly weaned myself off of) had numbed me in a way that wouldn’t wear off. And I didn’t like that. I like to feel. I need to be in tune with myself.

But yesterday afternoon, my Ethan — my firstborn, my sweet, thoughtful, intelligent young man — gently reminded me that we need to make a college deposit by May 1st. That may not sound like a big deal from the outside, but trust me, it is.

And now, since yesterday, it’s all I can do to try not to cry. I’m completely consumed by the reality of it all.

We’ve visited schools, we’ve talked about options, and the last time we spoke, he was undecided.

And then, yesterday… he told me he had decided.

He’s going to college. Not just any college — one far, far away. And believe me, I want him to be happy. I want him to succeed. I want him to spread his wings, to grow into himself… I’m just sad.

Sad about how much time has passed, how quickly it has gone — and how little of it I feel I’ve had with him. Sad about the emptiness our home will feel without him — an emptiness I’m already feeling. And worried. Worried that he might suffer. I know that figuring things out on your own builds strength and character, but I’m not sure we’ve prepared him the way we should have to truly be on his own.

I worry about how he’ll feel when the initial adrenaline wears off and reality sets in — when he realizes he’s nowhere near his family, nowhere near his friends. I want him to eat well. I want him to stay well. I want him to make friends, discover new interests, and not spend too much time alone. I don’t want him to be sad and lonely. I want him to be safe. I want him to be happy.

I already miss him.

I can’t even get through writing this without breaking down.

I worry about his sisters, who adore him and look up to him.

I know some people might say, “This is part of it.” And as a parent, yes, you know that. But knowing and feeling it when the time actually comes… oh, it’s so hard. So painful.

At the same time, I keep thinking about his face when we visited Old Dominion — how genuinely engaged, happy, and impressed he was. I cling to that image because it means more to me than my tearful, emotional self right now.

I’ve always told E, If you’re good, I’m good.

Please pray for E with me — for his future, his well-being, his health, and his heart.
And please, pray for the mamas who are hurting, too. Give them a hug… unless they say not to — because that probably means they’re hanging by a thread, and one more hug might just break them wide open again.