My oldest son & his family left today.
I've had a good cry.
My heart is heavy.
Which goes to prove what I've long suspected to be true.
Proof that it never gets easier.
He'll be 34 in 13 days and yet, as I watch him drive away, my heart doesn't seem to be able to differentiate between the screaming infant placed on my sterile-draped abdomen early that January morn and the handsome, broad-shouldered sailor who has traveled the world.
Is there a difference?
None that I can tell.
My head gets it.
My heart does not.
Which is regrettable on days such as this.
It had been two years since he'd been home.
That's a long, long time.
Especially in mom years.
In case you didn't know,
Mom years are even longer than dog years.
Of course, I just made that up.
But I challenge you to find a military momma who disagrees.
Before he left there was mention of another visit this year.
This Summer perhaps.
As wonderful as that would be, history has taught me to err on the side of caution.
So for now, I'll cherish the memories of the past eleven days.
I am truly grateful for the time spent together.
I have enjoyed every moment.