Sometimes, you hug your child not to comfort them, but to comfort yourself.
I read that the other day, and it stopped me.
Not because of one specific moment—but because of all the moments that aren’t happening as much anymore.
The hugs are fewer now. And when they do happen, they’re different. Quicker. Side-to-side instead of the full, wrap-your-arms-around-my-neck kind. No more picking him up. No more lingering. Just a quick squeeze before he’s off to the next thing.
And there’s always a next thing.
School. Soccer practice. Work. Studying. Friends. Life.
A typical day now barely includes us in the way it used to. And that’s not a bad thing—it’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. He’s building his life, becoming his own person, figuring out who he is outside of this house.
And honestly? I couldn’t be prouder.
He’s a great young man. Smart. Thoughtful. Independent. He works hard. He has a strong work ethic. He surrounds himself with good people and somehow makes friends wherever he goes. He’s outgoing in the best way—kind, genuine, easy to be around.
He’s everything you hope your child will grow up to be.
Which is why this feeling is so hard to explain.
Because I’m not sure I’m grieving… but something has definitely shifted.
I miss his sweetness. I miss when he’d just come talk to me about anything and everything. I miss the easy closeness, the way I was part of his everyday world without even trying.
Now, I have to catch the moments.
And when I do—when I get one of those quick hugs—I hold onto it just a little longer than I used to.
Not enough for him to notice.
But enough for me to feel it.
There’s this quiet realization that sneaks in:
that sometimes, our kids become our safe place… and they don’t even know it.
I don’t think they’re supposed to.
They’re busy moving forward, chasing what’s next, building their future. They’re not looking back at us the way we’re looking at them. And that’s how it should be.
But still… it hits.
Because in those small, fleeting moments—those quick hugs, those passing conversations—everything softens for just a second. The noise quiets. And for that brief moment, everything feels okay again.
And then they’re gone again.
Not forever. Just… forward.
He’s turning 18 soon. Graduation is around the corner. Senior nights, banquets, all the “lasts” are stacking up whether I’m ready or not.
And I am ready.
But I’m also not.
I’m excited to see who he becomes. To watch where life takes him. To see if his dreams stay the same or evolve into something completely different. I want him to go out into the world and be exactly who he is—kind, hardworking, grounded, good.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
But I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel the shift.
If I don’t notice the space.
If I don’t hold onto those hugs just a little tighter now.
Because somewhere along the way, without either of us realizing it…
Those hugs started meaning something different.