I started writing this blog in December of 2004. Just shy of 16 years ago. It started out as a simple semi-daily diary of our unschooling adventures, though it’s gone through several iterations since then. I’ve been drowning in nostalgia lately (more on that later), so I recently spent some time reading my earlier posts.

My heart hurts.

Two weeks ago, Paxton, who’s twenty at the time of this writing, moved out. It was a happy occasion, one marked with excitement for this new chapter in his life. He moved in to a 3 bedroom with two close friends. He’ll be able to gain the independence he’s ready for, and his commute to work will be much shorter. It’s a good thing. It is. But

My heart hurts.

Having my first child move out has broken a most tender spot in my mom heart, one that I didn’t even know existed. I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to name what it is I’ve been feeling, and I finally realized it yesterday: I’m mourning. It’s a different kind of loss than a death or a divorce, but it’s a loss nonetheless.

I know it’s a cliché, but seriously, where did the time go? How did I get from there: the wide-eyed 30 year old mom with little kids, to here….. the middle aged mom with all these young adults, 16 years later? It truly was like I just blinked.

My grief at the change has made me question, well, everything. Was I a good enough mom? Did I give them enough time? Enough attention? Enough patience? Enough of ME? Did we do enough cool things together? Did we make enough good memories? Did I give them the kind of childhood I wanted to give them? Were they happy? Not just superficially happy, but JOYFUL, deep in their souls? Right now, today, I have no answers, so clouded I am in my own melancholy.

It’s weird to suddenly have big kids. In February, my baby will be 13, and I’ll officially have only teens and young adults. I adore having older kids, and I am eternally thankful for the relationship that I have with each of them. But woosh. The feelings are big and overwhelming. An entire chapter, several chapters really, are over, and we’re starting a new one. One in which I play a very different role than I’ve played in the past. I’m still mom (I’ll always be mom), but mom means something different than it did 5 years ago. 10 years ago. 15 years ago.

I’m nostalgic. And I’m sad.

I’m excited for Paxton, who is going to have a great time with his friends, and a great time on his own. I’m trying to trust that we did a good job, and that we gave him the tools and the confidence and the self-awareness he needs to fly on his own. This is a big step for him, one that I’m thankful was able to even be an option for him. He’s fortunate, and I know that too.

But my God, am I missing those little kid days. So much I almost can’t breathe. I know this too will pass, and that eventually I’ll get used to the new normal. But right now? One of my chicks has left the nest, and I don’t feel okay.

I’m trying to give myself grace, and a whole lot of space to feel not-okay. It will pass. It will. I’ll come to appreciate the new parameters of our relationship in a whole new way, and life will return to another, if unfamiliar, sweet spot. For now, I’ll wait.

And if you’re reading this and your kids are still small? If you’re still dealing with sticky fingers and sippy cups and sleepless nights? Please hold them just a little bit longer, just because you can.