My son is turning 18 next week.
photo courtesy of sxc.hu @kampic
And I can hardly breathe.
I know it’s been a long time coming. 17 years and 359+ days or so, to be exact. And I admit, there are days we get on each others’ last nerve and I can hardly wait for him to leave the nest. But, it feels like it’s come too soon.
You’d think I’d be prepared. But people! Who is ever prepared? My tiny little sunshine with the round cheeks and winning smile is going to be a Man. And then there’s that other thing looming 7 months out (but who’s counting?)… College.
My senses and awareness are heightened. I am mindful of every. little. thing. Oh, and the tears. Showing up at the darndest times.
Last week he came home from track practice whining in his I’m-not-going-to-be-18-in-a-few-weeks-voice, “Mommy, I don’t feel good, will you make me some Chicken Noodle Soup?” Do I need to tell you he wasn’t talking about the kind that comes in a can and has lid that makes a swooshing sound when you open it?
What do you think I did? (after I grumbled that I was going to feed everyone leftovers, and no, I really don’t have the time.) Yep. I made the darn boy homemade soup. And we talked while he chopped carrots and I tried to salvage enough ingredients to make a passable bowl of comfort.
Need I remind you?
In just about 7 months he won’t be standing in my kitchen asking me what’s for dinner. And he won’t be in all those other places either. His messy room, where the floor is littered with clothes and each step has to be carefully maneuvered like stepping stones in a garden. The family room couch where wrappers reveal his last forage and the crumbs rest on the cushions. The laundry room where his smelly athletic clothes get dropped (long overdue for cleaning), him standing over me and my pile asking, “do you know where my such and such is?”
Oh, dear ones. This stuff is hard.
All the teaching, admonishing, cheering, counseling, listening, prodding, arguing, cherishing, watching, loving, praying, correcting, bantering, hugging, pushing, comforting, understanding, helping.
Each bring us closer and closer to that day.
That day, when they will play their last football game. That day, when they will turn 18. That day, when they will decide what comes next. That day, when they will graduate from High School. That day, when they will leave the safety of the nest, and the homemade chicken noodle soup on demand.
And fly.
I love this boy, but I get mad at this boy. I cherish this boy, but I become annoyed with this boy.
Yet, mostly, I am overwhelmed by this boy’s goodness and who he is growing to be. And I’m proud of this boy, my boy. And all he will do in the future. (yes, already.)
So I will breathe in and breathe out. I will pick up every last dirty sock and wrapper. I will wash willingly, deliver forgotten items with care, say what needs saying. I will try my hardest to savor.
Because I know in just a few short months things will never be the same. In fact, they’re already changing.
And I will try to remember, my job is to trust God with his future. That’s really all I can do.
Oh, and make him soup whenever he asks.
[reminder]Where is God calling you to trust right now? [/reminder]