By Savannah Lyon 
I never imagined these days of preparing for graduation, senior prom, senior photos, and you actually moving out would come.
A few weeks into your life, friends gifted you a 6-month sleeper. I remember the cuddly white footie pajamas well. But I swore you’d never get big enough to wear it.
How could this 8-pound human grow to fit into 6-month clothes? Impossible. And then somehow they did fit, and then they didn’t anymore. Just like that.
Everyone says the days are long but the years are short. Everyone, that is, who has had a lot of years. When I was a young mama to my sweet girl, I thought we had forever together.
I never fathomed we would be here. For years, your every need was demanded of me. You followed me from room to room. You hung on my every word. The days were so long.
Lately, I am just grateful for glimpses of you as you slip in and out of the house in your busy, apart-from-me life.
I find myself staring longingly at the chubby cheeks of my toddler or the toothless grin of my 8-year-old in photos. The years were too short.
Can we go back to those days?
I would do things so differently if I knew then what I know now.
Instead, you’re on the cusp of adulthood. I don’t get a redo. There is no rewind button. Only forward.
If you see disappointment in my face, it’s only because I’m worried about how I failed you. If you see fear, it’s because I want more for you than the pains I experienced in the lessons I had to learn. If you see sorrow, it’s because I wish we had more time in the seasons of your childhood. The whole time you were growing up, I was too.
It might take 20 or 25 years, but in time you will understand and, I hope, forgive me. I could only give you what I already had. No one knows better than me that sometimes it wasn’t enough. This is one of those things you don’t understand until you have to, through experience.
I couldn’t imagine this graduation day arriving, but I also couldn’t imagine how amazing you are becoming as you figure out God’s purposes for your life.
What I hope you remember is that I will love you unconditionally forever. I hope you know that home is always a safe place for you to return. I hope you see how much I believe in you and the dreams you’re ready to fulfill. I hope you always feel the invisible string that connects us, no matter how far you roam.
by Leslie Means 
by Christine Carter 
