Letting Go

My little guy and I used to walk to school together, hand in hand.

It's another delayed opening so the morning rush allowed me to have a longer conversation with my almost 13 year old son, my youngest of 4.

"Can I walk with you to school?"

"But why?"

"Why not?"

"But my friends will see me."

"And that's not good because?"

"Because you're my mom."

I felt a dagger in my heart. But then I saw his face and know that no matter what, I'll always be his Mom.

"Pretty please...I can walk with you halfway until you meet-up with your friends."

"Okay. Sorry, Mom, I guess I'm entering the teenage years..."

"I guess so. I lost my friend for now, and yes, I'll always be your Mom."

Now that you're almost 13, I have to keep my distance.

I need to let go and give you space to be with your friends;

I follow you walk farther through my eyes as my heart beats faster to tightly hold you close;

I utter day's good-byes as my ears await for a faint reply;

I stand there with both feet until your silhouette disappears;

I turn around, one pair of foot prints gliding through the memories.

For now, it seems, it's time to let go.

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