By Tera Christianson 
There is a strange kind of grief that comes with watching your children become exactly who you prayed they would become.
They are growing, working, signing leases, and slowly becoming people who do not need you in all the same ways anymore.
And as a mom, you are so proud.
But if you are honest, it hurts too.
Because the very things you prayed for, like independence, confidence, opportunity, and maturity, are also the things that carry them farther from your kitchen table.
This summer, two of my college daughters are home. The house is fuller again. There are shoes by the door, dishes in the sink, late-night conversations, and little moments I missed more than I realized.
But this summer feels different.
Last year, daughter number three had her “last summer” before college. Every ordinary thing felt like something I should be soaking in: a Target run, a car ride, dinner together.
This year, it is daughter number two’s turn, but in a different way. She has already left for college before. This time, she is preparing to move into an apartment in her college town across the country, and she graduates in December. It feels less like sending her off to school and more like watching her build a life there.
She is working full-time this summer, so her free time is precious. We are planning road trips, camping, hikes, park visits, and simple time together in the kitchen.
She has asked me to help her learn to cook and meal plan. I love that she still wants my help with that. We both know it is about more than cooking.
We will stand in the kitchen chopping vegetables, making grocery lists, and talking through easy meals. But I know what we are really doing. We are practicing for her leaving again.
I am so happy for her, and I hate it a little too. Motherhood has taught me that joy and grief do not always take turns. Sometimes they show up together.
I have four daughters, so I have been through different versions of this. Our oldest daughter lives on her own in the same town as us. And yet there were times we would go days without hearing from her.
I thought distance would be the hard part. But sometimes the ache is not about miles. Sometimes it’s about silence.
You know they are probably fine. You know they are busy. You know they are adults. But a mom’s mind can do a lot with a few quiet days.
I didn’t want to nag. I didn’t want to send another text asking if she was alive. I just wanted a simple way to know she was okay and to still feel connected to her.
Last summer, in the middle of all those feelings, I woke up around 3 a.m. with an idea.
I kept thinking there had to be a gentler way to stay connected as kids grow up and move away. Something simple. Something that felt less like obligation and more like connection.
That thought eventually became my app, KinJoin. But before it was an app, it was a prayer:
Lord, I don’t know how to do this next season. I don’t know how to hold them close without holding them back. I don’t know how to trust You with them when they are so far away.
Slowly, I am learning that trusting God with my children does not mean I stop missing them. It means I bring the ache to Him. I pray over the apartment lease, the long drive, the decisions I will not be there to help them make.
I remind myself that God goes with them.
But I am also learning that He stays with me.
He is with them in the college town, in the apartment, at the job, and in all the places I cannot see.
And He is with me in the quiet house.
So this summer, I am trying to pay attention. Not in a desperate, grab-every-moment kind of way, because trying too hard to make everything meaningful can make everyone tired.
Instead, I am trying to notice what is already meaningful.
The laughter, the errands, the stories from work, and even the messy kitchen. The moments when they still ask for help and the moments when they don’t.
I am trying to let this summer be what it is. Not a countdown, but a gift.
If your child is graduating or preparing to leave this fall, I hope you soak it in, but gently.
Don’t pressure yourself to make every moment perfect.
Cook the meal. Take the walk. Say yes to the drive. Pray when you worry. Laugh when you can. Cry when you need to.
And when the time comes to send them out again, remember this:
God goes with them.
And He stays with you too.
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