Orbit

My kids are getting older. Well, we're all getting older, but time moves differently with children. I can still remember how completely our lives revolved around them when they were young. Everything was ordered by when they would be hungry, need a nap, or need space to let their imaginations run wild. Our days were shaped by the things we knew and our ability to cope with the things we didn't.

Now, I count myself lucky if I see all three of them in the same week. One has already set off to build a life of his own and find his place in the world. His life is full of many of the same questions I wrestled with at his age. We've taken different paths, but the search for who we are and how we want to live remains the same.

The other two are practicing their independence, living in that space between needing us and not wanting to need us. Every day they discover a new skill, a new interest, or a new piece of themselves, and pull away a little more. My rational self knows that's exactly what growing up is supposed to look like.

Still, I'm afraid.

I'm afraid of losing them and the joy they bring to even the most ordinary moments. I'm afraid of how quiet the house will become. I'm afraid of being unable to protect them in this complicated world. And I'm afraid of figuring out who I will be when I'm no longer needed in the role of mom every day.

Since becoming a mother, I've taken a Mother's Day picture with my kids every year. It's one of the few times I want to be in front of the camera. Those photos have become treasures, and looking back at them feels like opening a time capsule. This year, only two of the kids were in the picture—just one more reminder that time keeps moving forward.

But as I looked at that photo, I realized something. While our lives are no longer ordered by nap schedules, snack times, and bedtime routines, I'm still in orbit of these people. The distance between us may change. Their paths may take them farther from home. But they remain the center of some of my deepest joys, worries, hopes, and prayers.

And perhaps that's what motherhood becomes: not holding them close, but learning how to love them as they find their own orbit.