I thought I was doing better…
It’s true that I failed to meet my exercise goals last week, but I am happy with the two mornings I crawled out of bed and onto the floor to do yoga. (I skipped downward dog, though. The backs of my legs hate the downward dog.)
And it’s true that I ate less crap than normal, even though I binged during the holiday. I also didn’t eat the food I prepped for workday lunches and met none of my schoolwork goals.
However, those failings aren’t the worst of it. My son has gone and left me to embark on his own vacation. I should have been selflessly thrilled about it. He deserves a great summer. He deserves his own experiences. But I still found myself scared to death of letting him go.
He’s fifteen, and lately, every separation feels like a foreshadow of what’s to come. One day he will leave for college, then for his own career, and then possibly for his own family. He will leave. He will leave. He will leave. He’s been warning me about it since he was seven. He was in the second grade when he told me that God did not call him to live in the town we live in. The news was delivered with confidence, and he’s been adamant about it since.
There’s no reason to judge me. I know I need a better attitude about my child growing up. I don’t have a choice. Therefore, I will try to find comfort in knowing that I have someone to lean on. While the world may be unsafe, God is real. My son may make mistakes, but God is real. He may get his feelings hurt, but God is real. And the same God that keeps me, keeps him. I will trust God, and that’s all there is to it.
Keep Writing. It'll All Work Out. 