"You are good." "You are giving." "You are intelligent." "You are strong." "You are independent." "You are creative." "You are open." "You are wise." "You are honest." "You are caring." "You are popular." "You are motivated." "You are successful." "You are responsible." "You are a leader." "You are demonstrative." She told me to not hold back anything, give as many affirmations as I could. SO I would close my eyes and picture my young man and continue: "You smile easily." "You are a protector." "You are athletic." "You are strategic." "You are intuitive." "You are cautious."

I wonder if he would be all of these things had I not done that. I can't know. But he is.

Today I am going to the post office to get him a passport so that he can make a trip in February to Germany with a dozen others from the Chamber Choir at our High School. When I get home, I will lay the application on top of his other important papers, the three college acceptance letters he received this past week.

I'm supposed to be happy. I pretend to be. I am proud of him. I am pleased that he is who and how he is. But then I remember him cuddling into the crook of my neck, and I remember him taking my cheeks in his little hands and telling me he loves me. I remember how he would suck his index finger and offer me the index finger from his other hand...and how I selfishly accepted it. I remember when he took his first steps toward me. And I remember the tears that escaped when he turned around and took his next steps away from me. I stood there verbally encouraging him, and trying to hide my broken heart that wanted to take back his ability to go away from me. I knew that from that day on, each day he would, and should, be more of his own person, and that meant that each day he would take more and more steps away from me. And I knew it was my job to encourage him in that, and hide my fears and hurt over it.

So on days like today, I do this. I wait for everyone to leave the house. And I sit and look at the pictures and I cry. It's not pity. It's not regret. I guess maybe it's "bittersweet." I know he's not out of my life, heck I know he's not even leaving for months. But every time I so much as blink, he does some amazing piece of growing that makes me want to tape my eyes open.

I ridicule myself and tease myself over many things. But not my children. They are my shining moments. And I don't ever regret, not even during the worst of times, ever having them in my life. I love them. And more importantly, I like them. I tell them daily that I love them, and the biggest reward in my life is hearing them say it back. They kiss me every day, they hug me everyday. And until recently I guess I hadn't given much thought to the fact that there will soon be not just days, but months between kisses and hugs. I know there is the phone, and there is email. But my boy will not be sleeping here, where I can hear him cough or call out. I won't be able to listen to his breathing. I won't trip over his shoes anymore. When he extends his hand it won't be mine that intuitively clasps it.

Somedays, like right now, I wish in my panic, that I could go back. I can't. And it hurts. And he's not even gone yet!

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