There is a quote my dad once shared that has stayed with me through every stage of my life: “The greatest gift you can give your children is roots and wings.”
At the time, I understood it in theory.
Today, I felt it in my bones.
Because today… I watched my son begin to fly.
The Suitcase That Felt Too Big
This morning, he stood in our driveway, his suitcase in front of him — half the size of himself.
There was something about that moment that stopped me. It was not just a suitcase. It was independence. It was growth. It was the quiet realization that he is no longer my little boy in the same way he once was.
He smiled. He was so excited. Ready for his trip!
And I smiled right back, because that is what moms do. We hold the joy for them, even when our hearts are silently breaking.
The Trip I Could Not Take
This spring break was supposed to look different. I was supposed to be the one packing his bags. The one holding his hand through new experiences. The one watching his eyes light up as he discovered something new.
But life had other plans.
With everything I am navigating right now — my grief, my health, my body, the need to slow down in ways that do not come naturally to me — I had to make a choice I never wanted to make.
I had to stay, as I unfortunately need another surgery next week. And that decision… it broke me in a way I was not prepared for. Because as mothers, we are used to showing up. To being everything. To never missing a moment.
And yet, here I was missing one.
When Love Shows Up In Other Forms
But love has a way of showing up, even when it looks different than we imagined.
My mom stepped in.
She did not just offer to take him — she offered to give him something magical: an adventure. A chance to explore. To laugh. To create memories that will become part of who he is.
And as much as it hurt me not to be there, I knew deep down that this mattered more. Because this is part of raising a child, too. It is not just about being there for every moment. It is about making sure they have those moments… even if they happen without you.
They Laughed And I Cried
When they left, there was laughter. Excitement. Energy. Anticipation.
And then there was me. Standing there, holding it together just long enough, until I could not anymore.
I cried.
Not just because I will miss him (although I already do in a way that feels so quiet and so loud at the same time). But because something shifted today.
This was not just a trip. This was a glimpse into the future. More independence. More moments where he does not need me in the same way. More space between us, even though the love will never change. And that realization is both beautiful and heartbreaking.
Understanding “Wings” In Real Time
For so long, I have focused on the “roots.”
Creating a home filled with love. Building traditions. Showing him what it means to feel safe, seen, and deeply cared for.
But today, I understood the “wings.”
Wings are not easy. Wings mean letting go. Wings mean trusting. Wings mean stepping back, even when every instinct tells you to hold on tighter. Wings mean believing that everything you have poured into them is enough.
Enough for them to stand on their own. Enough for them to explore the world. Enough for them to find their way, even when you are not right beside them.
Choosing Peace In The Letting Go
I could sit in the sadness of what I am missing. And yes, part of me is there.
But a bigger part of me is choosing something else.
Peace.
Peace in knowing he is safe. Peace in knowing he is surrounded by love. Peace in knowing that this experience is shaping him in ways I cannot.
And maybe… this is shaping me, too. Teaching me that motherhood is not about holding on forever. It is about knowing when to loosen your grip and still feel connected.
Fly, My Sweet Boy
So go.
Laugh. Explore. Discover.
Make memories that do not include me.
Become who you are meant to be.
Because that is the goal, is it not?
Not to keep you close forever, but to love you enough to let you go.
And as I stand here, missing you already, I realize something my dad understood long before I did: The wings were always the point.
And somehow… even in letting you go, I am still holding you.
