He's leaving home... bye, bye

My son is leaving the nest. He is 21, after all, God damn it! So why do I feel so bad? Because, no matter how old he is, he's my baby... that's why. I'm ready for him to go, really. I am. When I was his age age, I was married and had a child! I look back at myself at that age and I can't believe what I was dealing with. I'm so happy that my son is able to pursue his dreams and be young. That's the way it should be.

Still, from my chair in the living room, I'll look down the hall and know he isn't there. I'll strain to hear the music that once blasted from his room, and instead of being pissed off by it, I'll miss it. I'll miss his enthusiasm about a great new song that he can't wait for me to hear. I'll miss hearing him play his guitar and singing. I'll miss him taking the last Coke from the fridge. I'll just miss him... so much.

He'd never know it, but i used to watch him sleep when he was little. He smiled when he slept. I used to wonder what made him so happy. It was music. It still is. He's been filled with it all of his life. I used to wonder if I could instill in my children a true love for music. I need not have worried. If anything, they've given me a new faith in it. My son keeps me young and hopeful, and for that I am grateful.

Music.

It is a true universal language. My whole family is fluent. For that... I am SO thankful.