I was the mother of the groom. The day I had dreaded (emotionally) all his life, yet in the same breath, couldn’t wait to see, came. That October day that I donned my champagned-colored, sequin dress was one of the happiest and hardest days of my life. Watching my oldest son give away his heart to the exquisite bride, to pledge his “forever” to her, came with emotions I hadn’t experienced. My son has a wife… MY SON HAS A WIFE. The little guy who wanted to live with me forever (or at least next door), as he confessed as a weeping five-year-old, is living 7 miles away now, in his own house, and really rarely visits. He calls on occasion to ask his dad a car question or to plan the next hunting trip, but I’m reminded all too often that my job is done. I am no longer needed to get a stain out of his shirt or help register for classes or if he can borrow my car. No one asks my opinion on which bow tie looks best, or does “this match with this”. There’s someone else to answer now. He doesn’t add spaghettios to the grocery list or mention that he needs me to trim his hair. He grew up. He’s moved on. And there is a new love to take care of all the stuff that was asked of me for all of those years.

And she’s perfect for the job. Quite honestly, I often see that she’s better at taking care of him than even I was. His dinner is just as he likes, nearly every evening (I was a TERRIBLE cook if I even tried), his clothes are clean and put away (I left them in the laundry basket), he is doted on and every need met, with loving servanthood from the girl his heart always wanted. She is beautiful, kind, smart, Godly, and loves my son with every part of herself. I’ll say it again- She’s absolutely perfect. But I miss him. Watching him love his wife makes my heart happy from way down deep. He is where he should be. Shame on selfish me…

I think I knew I would feel a loss, but the hole that was left when the door closed was more difficult than even I would realize. My son lives close enough; I see him at church and even get the ole side hug most times, but it’s different. I’m no longer his “person” And it hurts to think about. The boy who has my eyes and his dad’s build is his own. We did the job we were called to do and now, well, he’s gone to start building his own person. Weird. It went so fast. It honestly feels like only months have passed. It’s true when they say the days are often dreadfully long, but the years are so damn short.

Reminding myself of my own journey to becoming a wife and onto motherhood is sometimes the only thing that saves me from my thoughts. I too left my parents to start a family. They felt like we do. They worried, and still do 35ish years after I flew the nest. My mother reminds me that the worry never goes away. The longing doesn’t either. She still loves a phone call from me. She gets excited to run errands as my sidekick. And for the first time, I understand how she feels, because I have the same longing for my own kid. A drop-by to say hi makes my day. This old heart smiles when a text tone comes with words to just check-in. He’s happy. And I realize as I watch them, how happy I am to see it. We spent all of those years getting him ready for these times. We didn’t raise a child, we raised an adult. He’s a man who is moving forward with his wife to become, well… us. He will later know how we feel. He will feel the same longing. He will miss his children when they too, move on. And his precious wife will hopefully be the mother of the groom.

And my heart hurts already for how she will miss that boy.