As the final year of high school approaches, it’s hard to believe that we’re nearing the end of childhood. I use the term “childhood” loosely, as anyone who has observed high schoolers recently knows these aren’t just little kids lining up with fingers crossed to make the “SH!” sign. Instead, it’s a well-structured environment, complete with rules, a principal, detentions, and all the bells and whistles of a traditional school. However, it’s a far cry from the freedom my son will soon experience in college. Am I truly ready to face his last year of high school? The last dance, the final sports events, the senior breakfast, awards ceremonies, and the emotional cap-and-gown moment? More importantly, is he prepared?
I’m beginning to believe he is, and that realization is both exhilarating and terrifying. It feels like we’ve survived the tumultuous storm that is puberty. The awkward phase has morphed into a confident young man who is unafraid to speak publicly, remembers to groom himself, and is stepping into an independence I didn’t see coming. This summer, he’ll even land his first job. The wild mood swings have become rare, and conversations have shifted from juvenile jokes to thoughtful discussions about significant topics, such as whether our country is ready for a female president. So now, it’s time for me to start the gradual process of letting go, so that when he walks across that graduation stage next year, I won’t dissolve into a puddle of tears.
Among all the challenging phases of parenting—from teething to sleepless nights, toddler tantrums to teenage angst—none compare to the difficulty of letting go. Just saying it sends a chill down my spine. Some days, I still see glimpses of the little boy who played with Thomas the Tank Engine in his room, and the thought of sending him out into the vast world is daunting. But yes, I must. Just like my mother did when she left me at college at 17, back when cell phones and emails were nonexistent. I still remember the days of collect calls and waiting at the payphone. I can hardly fathom how she drove away that day, but she did, and soon I will follow suit.
Parents of my generation, and those slightly younger, have embraced what some might call “helicopter parenting.” From the moment our kids entered the world, we held on tight and never looked back. We were the pioneers of attachment parenting, sporting our babies in basic navy Baby Bjorns before they became trendy. We were advocates for extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and were the first to demand organic baby food. We even introduced screens to our infants with shows like Baby Einstein. We walked our kids to preschool, never missing a single game, lesson, or recital, always ready to support and protect them.
Yet, the thought of leaving my son on the steps of his dorm in just over a year feels impossible. I take a deep breath; yes, I must do this earnestly, faithfully, and gracefully.
Every spring, a mother dove builds her nest on my porch. I watch as she and her partner take turns nurturing their young, embodying instinct, will, and unwavering strength. She never leaves them alone—until one day, she does. Initially, she’s just gone for a few minutes to gather food, but soon she’s away for longer stretches. The hatchlings peer over the edge of the nest, curious and hesitant, wondering if they’re ready to fly. And they are. She knows they will.
Days later, I find the nest empty. Those little ones have taken flight. In a year, I hope to summon the courage of that mother dove as I leave my own “hatchling” at college. It will require small steps of letting go throughout his senior year, building my confidence and reminding me that letting him soar doesn’t mean I’m not there to support him. It just means I’ve prepared him well, and for that, I should feel proud rather than sad.
This journey of letting go can be transformative, and it’s essential to embrace it with courage and grace.
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Summary
As a mother prepares for her son’s final year of high school, she reflects on the challenges of letting go. With confidence and courage, she acknowledges the bittersweet transition from childhood to independence, drawing inspiration from nature as she contemplates her role in nurturing her son’s growth and readiness for the world.