Over the past few days, the same thought has run through my mind more times than I can count. I have struggled more than I care to admit with facing the changes that have come, and are still coming, into our lives. It seems as if the dawn of each day brings a new revelation of how different things are for us and how very unlikely they are to ever be the same again.

My daughter has a life of her own that quite honestly, I don’t know that much about. (It isn’t because I don’t want to know or that I don’t care. I think her boyfriend put it best when he said this is an awkward stage in their lives; a transition stage when people their age are trying to figure out who they are and how their lives are ordered without the direction of parents.) I know where she works. I know who her heart belongs to and I’m aware of some of her interests but more than that and she is an enigma to me. I’ve caught myself trying to remember if I went through this with my parents and I vaguely think I remember a period when there were pieces of my life they weren’t allowed to be a part of.

My son, on the other hand, is still at home. Everyday, I have the privilege of continuing to glance in his room and see him sprawled across the bed or look up from the living room couch to see him rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. He hasn’t quite reached the point in his life when I am no longer welcome in almost every aspect but I can feel it coming. He spent this past Sunday with his girlfriend’s family celebrating Christmas with them and then Monday drove the 2 1/2 hours to his dad’s house to celebrate with them. I wince as I think about him travelling so far on his own. Independence, it seems, has arrived. I know the time will be coming soon when, like her, the holidays will come with not only the responsibility of time with our family but his girlfriend’s too. Though, by all accounts after Sunday, I realize it already has.

My husband and I have had this same discussion multiple times. I bring up her having her own life and him beginning his, he will then remind me it’s just a part of life and I have to learn to let go. Over this holiday season, he has teased a little bit because this one has been rougher than most. Spent mostly alone, no family, no celebration, just a quiet day, like any other. We could see on social media the happiness and joy in the lives of those we know. Ours, however, looked quite a bit different this year.

A little lonelier. A little nostalgic. A lot bittersweet.

“So this is Christmas?”…the thought, rampant in my mind, has captivated me. Is this what life will be like, I wonder, when they have families of their own? Will there continuously be a separation that will expand and contract like a rubber band pulled too tight at times by life? Will I sit, impatiently patiently waiting my turn, watching the clock for the few stolen hours or minutes I will receive during the busy season? Does the busy season last all year?  Is this how my parents really feel?

So many different questions. Well, so many different wordings of the same question at least. As I wade through these murky thoughts, trying to find clarity, I find myself lingering on the days when I had them all to myself. Sleepy Saturdays, long forgotten when one or both of them would crawl into my bed to wake me only to ask what was for breakfast. Before dawn wake up giggles on Christmas to see what Santa brought, sneaking into everything before I got up (or so they thought). Whispered secrets between the two of them, peas in a pod, safeguarding each other in reality and imagination, against the world. This is where I linger. This is where I long to be.

Here’s the thing: I’m not that mom. I’m not the mom who is so obsessive I have to be included in every second of their lives. I’m not the mom who will barge into their houses when they are married without knocking or even calling first. I am not the mom who domineers, demanding their lives be lived on my terms.  I want them to have wings. I want them to stand on their own. I want them to be able to have full, blessed and fulfilled lives, separate from me. I want them to see me as a safe place to go, a helper when needed and not a hindrance to the life they are trying to create. I’m not the mom that holds them too close and doesn’t let go.

I didn’t use to be, anyway.

And I’m still not.

I don’t think.

But then I look back at where I linger…

It’s funny how, when the time comes to fully let go, we lose our bluster like a rushing wind that has lost its momentum. I’m sure most moms are just like me. We talk a big game about wanting to “push them out of the nest” only to realize we can’t take it if they hit the ground. We spend their childhoods preparing them for no longer needing us yet forget to ready our own selves for it.

So this is Christmas. So this is life. And so the story goes.

If they are still little, hold them a little tighter. Read to them a little louder. Play with them a little longer.

Before you know it, you’ll be lingering too.