His boisterous cries filled the room as he entered this world. When they laid my son on my chest in that hospital room, his little cries softened. Time stood still as we lay there looking at each other. His eyes searched for mine as I scanned his little face, wanting to memorize his tiny features.

We were meeting each other for the first time, but we had known each other all along. He was my son, and I was his mom.

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From the moment they laid him on my chest, I have been raising him to leave me. From the moment we walked through our front door for the very first time, I have been preparing him for the day he walks out of it. It’s an overwhelming responsibility and a heartbreaking truth.

I’m raising him to be kind.

I’m raising him to be strong.

I’m raising him to be joyful.

I’m raising him to be brave.

I’m raising him to be bold.

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I’m raising him to be strong in the Lord.

I’m raising him to be the man God wants him to be.

I’m raising him to leave me.

Originally published on the author’s Instagram page