Today you were too busy to say goodbye.
Nothing bad happened.
You were just running late and rebounding from a scuffle with your big brother over the hair gel.
It was 6:55am. Time to leave soon.
You got dressed and sprayed your super strong cologne.
“Load up!” Dad thundered. You hoisted your backpack over your shoulder and shuffled straight downstairs.
Bye, son. See you tonight, I thought as you passed me and I said a silent prayer for your day.
Today’s goodbye was quick. A snapshot in the longest goodbye of my life.
You’ve been quiet lately.
Maybe you’ve got a lot on your mind.
Maybe a big assignment.
Maybe your knee is still hurting from that football misstep.
Maybe it’s relationship stuff.
I say maybe because… well, I’m really not sure.
These days, I really don’t know what’s on your mind.
I ask but you usually don’t share more than a one-word answer.
I care but sometimes you say you wish I didn’t.
And so, I wait.
I wait for those moments when I get to see you.
I wait for the glimmers of you.
Not the you who armors up for middle school, every weekday in a wrinkled uniform and a steely countenance.
Not the you who looks tough in pictures, holding a stare and a straight face.
Not the you who talks tough and crude with his friends, trying to puff up and be funny.
The real you.
YOU.
The you that comes out in moments when you’re tired and mutter “love you Mom.”
The you that flashes an eye sparkle as you comfort your sister after a bad day.
The you who is loving and tender.
The you I know.
The you worth waiting for.
The you who is slowly saying goodbye.
Sometimes parenting a teenage son feels like a long goodbye.
Like standing in the middle of a room, face-to-face, with a person you love deeply. Someone who is part of you. Waiting for their eyes. But they’re looking past you at what’s next after they tangle out of this moment.
Like wanting a singular closeness with someone who is ready to play the field.
Like longing to share a secret with someone who doesn’t have the time to be still long enough for your confidence.
There’s nothing wrong with it.
But we don’t always want to say goodbye.
And for my Mama heart, well… sometimes, it hurts.
Not in a ‘oh you’re hurting my feelings and being mean’ kind of way.
It hurts in a different way.
It’s not an acute slice that’s gushing blood but a deep ache no one can see.
A sore spot of sorrow at the back of my throat. Like missing someone so badly but knowing you have to let them go. Knowing you need to say goodbye but it feels too soon.
And you know the craziest part?
This is exactly how it’s supposed to be.
And that might be what hurts more.
Not because you’re doing anything wrong. You’re not! In fact, I would be worried if my teenage son still looked to me for every fact, every experience, every memory and every expression of love. (Honestly, it’d be kind of weird.)
I’m so thankful you’re growing into a young man who is independent and wants his space and privacy. It’s all totally normal. Exactly what you should be doing.
Going out with friends. Keeping up with the trends. Spouting the lingo (a full-time job in itself *wink*). Experiencing new things.
But my dear son, there was a time.
There was a time when every summer morning was: “Mom, what are we doing today?” Now it’s: “Mom can I hang out with ‘so and so’ today?”
Oh yes, there was a time.
There was a time you’d bound into our room when the windows were still dark. Not a hair past 5am. “It’s going to be a beautiful day!” you’d declare as you ripped open the blinds next to our bed.
Outside, gray clouds and rain.
And my heart smiled.
Because even then, I knew you saw the beauty in every person and every experience — even rainy days.
Oh my boy, there was a time.
There was a time when your baby sister was crying so badly in Target. I was spooked and frazzled, and I started pushing the cart toward the exit — choking back the tears that had already begun to make my eyes glassy.
“Wait, Mom. Let me help,” you said in a measured tone. And next, your 3-year-old body gingerly crawled up and over the top of the cart to sit next to her carrier. You whispered “Itsy Bitsy Spider.”
Instantly, her face softened — mesmerized by the tender words and gentle care. Coming from her brother. Coming from you.
Oh my sweet boy, there was a time.
There was a time when I missed you so much during your naps that I’d sneak into your room, the buzz of the white noise machine shielding your ears from my presence.
And I’d gaze at the treasure inside your crib.
I’d drink in your perfect little face. Your tiny nose. Your precious cheeks. Your wispy eyelashes.
I never had long because if your big brother discovered us, he’d end our special moment with a few loud toddler words.
And so, I’d savor my 10 stolen seconds with my tiny treasure taking the nap.
That was more than a decade ago, and I’m still stealing seconds with you. Just in a different way.
When you reach across the console as I’m driving home from church to bring my hand to yours.
When sleepiness blurs your big boy rules and you lean your head on my shoulder at the end of the movie.
When you hold onto my hug for 3 more seconds after I thought it was over.
Our goodbye pushed off by a few seconds. A few sweet seconds I will savor.
My sweet boy, I still know you.
I know the you who exists behind the tough words and faded smile.
I know the you who you have been for every single day of your life.
I know all of who you are is still there.
It’s just tucked away. Covered in layers of middle school and needing to be tough.
For now, it’s not goodbye. Just “see you later.”
And for now, I will treasure every glimmer of you I get.
