It’s been one whole week since my son left for college.
You’d have thought I would have posted several tissues-required posts about it all by now.
That’s usually how I roll.
But the words didn’t come this week. They stayed trapped in my head or lurking beneath my fingertips, struggling to come together on the keyboard and form more than two complete sentences.
Or at least a Facebook status.
He asked me to make sure he woke up on time the day he left. His alarm clock was already packed away; iPod set aside in one box or another.
When enough time had passed that morning and he hadn’t been seen, I went to his door and waited outside just a bit. I waited remembering how many times I had lingered outside that very door, listening for a horrible cough or maybe just waiting to tuck a little boy into bed.
We keep the door closed all of the time now. I like to say it’s to keep the still puppy-ish dog from stealing socks and school papers but it’s really because teenage boys are quite messy.
If you have one, you know.
I opened the door quietly, not wanting to startle him awake.
And there he was, in his big boy bed, peacefully sleeping.
Quite the big boy now, complete with two-day beard stubble on his face and size eleven feet hanging over the end of the bed.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him sleeping, actually.
I have always been one to linger by the side of cribs and big kid beds, watching my children sleeping and wondering where their dreams were taking them. It mesmerizes me to watch them like that; so innocent and fragile, so full of hope and promise and dreams.
So for a few moments that morning, I lingered. I stood by his bed and took in the absolute breathtaking wonder that it is to gaze at your very own child. Fragile yet strong; small yet mighty; so young yet somehow so old.
We’ve raised him to this point and now it’s his turn.
And I knew exactly where his dreams were taking him that morning.