Soon, we are scheduled to drop the last kiddo off at college.

I’m sure the house will be quieter. His room might be my new favorite place to be, a place to keep him closer to me, somehow comforting and heartbreaking at the same time. Walking into his room, it looks and feels almost unfamiliar now, cleaner somehow, lighter, especially the shelves that hold his awards and trophies. Another shelf with childhood clutter or prized items (as he states) are neatly organized. Not surprised, since we ensured he cleaned his room before he left for college. On one shelf held a single framed photograph, a younger version of BWill, all knees and grin, standing barefoot in the yard with a stick he’d pretended was a sword. I remembered how serious he’d been about that sword. How fiercely he believed in the world he was imagining. Oh, how time has passed, that photo seems like a thousand years ago.

With all our children, from the moment they were babies to the moment they left on their journeys, our lives have circled them. BWill is no exception, our lives circled his contagious laughter, his football gear strewn across the floor, his music playing way too loud, his arms wrapping around us in those giant, loving hugs (snug as a bug). And now, just like that, he’s off chasing his own dream.

We are so proud. So, so proud.

The last to leave the nest is stepping into the next chapter, and he’s doing it with courage, heart, and fire. He’s worked hard. He’s earned this. And come Saturdays, you better believe we’ll be at every college football game, screaming from the stands, watching our “Bug” take the field in his college football jersey. I may cry tears of happiness or sadness, or a mix of both.

I keep telling myself that pride and heartbreak can live side by side, and even though my heart wants to hurt just a little, the warm glow of love and joy hollows the ache.

That hollow ache I can’t name is tucked somewhere between missing his goofy jokes at dinner and not hearing the fridge slam open at midnight. It’s the ache of knowing this is exactly what we’ve raised him to do, and still, it feels uncomfortable to let go.

He’s our last, the caboose, the youngest, and the one who taught us how fast it all goes, and now, this chapter, this beautiful, messy, loud, full-house chapter, is closing. The joy, the nerves, the sadness, they’re all tangled up right now. But most of all, there’s gratitude for the privilege of being a mama.

Sweetheart, for every scraped knee and bedtime story, for every touchdown and every I love you, for this moment, we are here. Standing at the edge of something new, cheering you on. Just know it won’t be the same without you, but it’s not supposed to be.

We are so proud of you. Go get ‘em, Bug!

Love you always, your biggest fans.

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