I remember the days when you were a little child going off to kindergarten.

I remember the days when you’d trip on the sidewalk and your shoe would fall off.

You cried and whined and sometimes I got tired.

I remember getting upset with you, and putting you in time out.

I remember breast-feeding you and making sure you didn’t cry.

I remember yelling at you because you almost started a fire.

I also remember rocking you gently in my arms and singing softly into your ear.



When you were three, you ate chocolate pudding and slathered it all over your face.


When you were eleven, you yelled at me and told me you hated me.


When you were fifteen, you had your first boyfriend, and I cried.




When you were a baby, I remember the softness of your little hands in mine, and your delicate eyelashes as you rested.


When you were five, I remember you making me a drawing for Mother’s Day and writing, “You are the best Mommy in the world,” on it.


When you were thirteen, I remember you laughing and making jokes with me.


When you were sixteen, I remember you getting your driver’s license and taking me out to eat.


When you were seventeen, I remember talking and laughing and crying and having a deep conversation with you.



And now you’re all grown up.


You’re an adult in the eyes of society.



But in my eyes, you’re still my sweet little baby.


You want to rebel and dye your hair.


And that’s fine.


You want to spray paint the wall of your room and blast music all night.


And that’s fine.


You also want to move out.


Through all those tough times,
Through all that hardship,
Through all the times you said, “I hate you!”
And all the crying,


We still love each other.


I still love you.


And I know you have a car and a boyfriend and are going after your passion.


That’s great.


I know it’s great.


But why don’t I feel great?


I feel so selfish right now—it’s something so big for you—such a big step in your life.



But I hate it.


You’ll be moving out.


You’ll be with him.


You’ll be together.


But you won’t be with me.



I want you to be with me.


I miss holding you in my arms on all those sleepless nights.


I miss your cute little voice as a toddler.


I miss your care-free attitude and ease of living.



I miss you,
But you’re not even gone.


It hurts to see you packing up all those boxes.

It hurts to see you say goodbye to your friends.


Why am I so selfish?


Why can’t I be happy for you?


Well, I am. But at the same time, I can’t get over it. I can’t.


You’re leaving.


You’re leaving—


And you’ll be without me.


I know you can take care of yourself,


But part of me still worries you’ll leave a light on for too long or



You’ll get too drunk or



You’ll do drugs or



You won’t keep up with your rent or




Why am I doubting you?



Or maybe I’m just doubting myself.


Maybe I’m doubting my ability to find a reason to live without you.


Maybe I’m doubting my ability to be happy for you.


Maybe I’m just



Doubting my existence.


I don’t want you to go.



I don’t want you to go.


I don’t want you to leave me.



I don’t want you to leave.



Please don’t leave.




Please.











Please.










Don’t leave me at this bottomless pit alone









With no one left to love.













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