As I walked past my son’s bedroom, I paused to switch off the light. My gaze fell on the figure lying on the bed, and I couldn’t help but think: That’s a young man. He’s not my little boy anymore; he’s grown into a young man.
Hold on. Just a moment. I need to pause and take this in. I require a moment to say farewell.
Letting go of the child caught between boyhood and adolescence is something I’ve been doing all along. From the time he was a tiny infant, effortlessly cradled in my hand, to a beaming toddler who frequently donned a Captain Feathersword costume while clutching a Thomas the Tank Engine or Lightning McQueen car, to an energetic school-aged boy who was always on the move and prone to causing me heart palpitations—I cherished every phase of his upbringing. While I eagerly anticipated each new stage, I also felt a sense of loss for the one we were leaving behind.
Saying goodbye is hard.
Not long ago, I longed for just one more summer of what I believed was the perfect age for him. I craved a little extra time with my little one being just that—little. I got my wish—one more summer filled with the delightful chaos of childhood. But, as is inevitable, he progressed to the next phase of his life. He matured, and I had to grow along with him. It was either adapt or risk being left behind.
In hindsight, I recognize the beauty in his growth. I see the remarkable young man he is becoming. Daily, there are changes that astound me. It feels like he shot up taller than my own 5 feet 9 inches in mere days. His voice has deepened, his laughter has shifted, and his perspectives have evolved. We even engage in discussions about politics, and he genuinely knows what he’s talking about. He is moving forward, leaving childhood behind as he strives to reach his full potential. That’s the goal, and it’s evident that I’m succeeding in my role as his parent; he’s already an extraordinary individual. He is on track to become a truly magnificent man.
Yet, I struggle with the farewell to the little boy.
I suspect I will always yearn for that grinning toddler, the whimsical thoughts of a 6-year-old, the toy cars, the epic forts, and the essence of my little boy. Each goodbye reminds me not only of what I am missing but also of what I am gaining. Yes, my son is growing up, and it’s a beautiful, enchanting journey. We have so many adventures still ahead of us.
I’m fortunate that he still thinks I’m somewhat cool—or at least pretends to be. He still enjoys hanging out with me, and while he’s starting to suggest our adventures, he also makes sure to come back for a goodbye kiss and an “I love you,” regardless of who is nearby. He still values my opinion but is not afraid to think for himself.
Sometimes, he still takes my hand when we cross the street. I can’t tell if it’s to ensure his safety or mine, but either way, I hold on tight.
Because I don’t know how to say goodbye.
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In summary, saying goodbye to my son as he grows up is a bittersweet experience marked by moments of joy and nostalgia. Each stage of his life brings new challenges and adventures, and while I cherish the memories of his childhood, I also look forward to the incredible young man he is becoming.