It’s been a whirlwind since my son returned from his first semester at university. After three long months, his presence brings an overwhelming sense of joy. The kitchen feels alive again, filled with the clattering of dinner dishes and the familiar sounds of a busy home. I can hardly recall the last time the fridge door was opened and closed so frequently; it almost feels like we might need a new light bulb soon.
My son, Daniel, looks vibrant and content. He lights up when he shares stories about college life, his laughter echoing through our home. My husband, Mark, eagerly fires questions about his classes and grades, while I reminisce about the week before when the yogurt in the fridge spoiled from lack of use. The orange juice turned sour, and the bananas went brown—reminders that I’m still learning how to shop for a household that no longer revolves around him.
His first semester away has been everything he imagined. As Daniel catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he proudly mentions his healthier eating habits. I hold back a chuckle, remembering how effortless it is to maintain a fit appearance at 19. He’s become strong, and hugging him feels like wrapping my arms around a sturdy tree. When I ask about his well-being, he responds with enthusiasm, sharing that he’s working hard and meeting incredible people. His spirit is infectious, and I’m grateful for this glimpse into his new world.
I recall the first day he started kindergarten, full of excitement and stories about his day. As he overflowed with tales of projects and books, I felt a pang in my heart—the realization that his life would now include experiences without me. Time has flown by since then, and the little footstool I painted for him still stands in the corner of his room, a relic of days gone by.
I often find myself wanting to ask him a million questions: “Where do you get your hair cut? Is there a good pasta place nearby? Did it feel strange the first night you weren’t home?” Each question helps me piece together the image of him during those moments he’s away. I want to know if his boots are warm enough and whether he uses a buddy system when he goes out. If I gather these small details, I can picture him at those specific times, even when he’s not right here with me.
Yet, as I walk past the duffel bag in his room, I’m constantly reminded that his visits are fleeting. It’s a strange feeling—my child is visiting, rather than truly home. Watching him share stories about his new life, I marvel at my own resilience. I once thought that losing this daily connection would be devastating, picturing myself wandering aimlessly. Instead, I find joy in his accomplishments and relief that he’s thriving. Though I feel a lump in my throat, I’m okay with the changes because my love for him outweighs any sadness.
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In summary, the transition from having my son home every day to his visits during college has been bittersweet. I cherish our time together while navigating the changes that come with his independence. My heart is filled with love and pride, reminding me that while he may not be home in the same way, he is thriving in his new journey.