The last of my chicks has flown the nest. How empty this nest is. And it happened so fast! I mean, last week I was bringing him home from the hospital in my arms. And this week, he is off to college.

He is my heart, this youngest of my children. It does seem fitting. My firstborn was the love of my life before any siblings were even contemplated. We had those first few years to revel in that love. Pregnant with the next one, I knew quite well that I couldn't possibly love another as I loved that firstborn, my little man.

I watched my firstborn grow and I grew with him. We learned to crawl together, to laugh together, to cry together. He began walking early and ran shortly after. He was in such a hurry, always running ahead. He headed toward independence so quickly.

And then there were two. And I found out that God just gives you a larger capacity to love.

And I was proud that my firstborn was learning independence. Here was the child of my heart, my baby. He would be more slowly developing independence, not for himself, but for me. He was my cuddler, longer than my firstborn, who was always in a hurry to discover something new.

And I needed this time.
How I needed this time.

But now he's gone and a mother's heart is broken. Not that I want it any other way. Independence is the way it's supposed to be with sons. God gives sons to special moms. Moms who will survive when the time for them to fly comes. Moms who will do their crying in secret, all the while cheering them on in public. Moms whose hearts can handle breaking.

For the adage is true: A son is a son 'till he takes a wife; a daughter is a daughter all her life.