No matter how much you prepare for it, the gut punch comes.
The jolt to your insides knowing it's going to be a while until you see them again.
It doesn't matter if they walk away, drive away or fly away.
It doesn't matter if they are 18, 28 or 48.
It doesn't matter if you can video message, digital message or text message.
There's just something about being in the same place, the same house, the same room.
Where you can reach across the table or across the couch cushions and give whatever touch is comfortable.
A hug.
A stroke of the hair.
A pat on the back.
Where you can chat until the wee hours about nothing and everything, eating snacks without a care in the world that you'll pay for in the morning or when you step on your scale.
Where you can hear their footsteps, smell their particular "flavor" as you walk into the bathroom and perhaps sneak a glance in their general direction soaking in the view of their profile.
As they turn and give a wave, going off to live their best life once again, you remember all that's good and right, even if only for a moment.
You love them beyond anything you ever thought imaginable.
You already miss everything about them, even the mess they made in the kitchen at 2 am.
You have given them the wings to fly away.
Or walk.
Or drive.
Who knew the gut punch had so much to say?
From my heart to yours,
Esther
P.S. For those of you with littles or middles, I'm sure you have your own gut punches. Like the one where they toddle away taking their first steps or bike away to your neighbor's house (all by themselves) or wiggle away from your mom hug (with a big old roll of the eyes to boot). The gut punch is for real, my mama friends. For real.