A couple of weeks ago, my son mentioned to my husband that he most likely would not be coming home for his college spring break. He had so many on-campus obligations that getting away seemed almost impossible.

My son, of course, did not mention this to me. I think because he knew how sad I’d be. So he was avoiding that conversation altogether.

Well, yesterday my husband informed me that there had been a change in plans and our son was indeed coming home for spring break, and the airplane tickets had already been purchased. Not only is he coming home, but our son planned his departure to guarantee he’d make it home in time for dinner with the family.

And my heart is so full.

It’s full because of this truth: our children come back to us.

Coming back might look different these days. Now they’ll refer to coming home as a “visit.” They might call the place where they currently spend so much of their time away from us as “home.”

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And they come back as different people, too. They come back with laundry and luggage and items you didn’t buy for them and that you’ve never seen before. They come back talking about people you’ve never met. They come back looking different, smelling different, sounding different.

But they come back to us.

They come back to where they can be who they’ve always been, and where they can practice becoming exactly who they’re meant to be.

They come back to us because this is their safe place. This home you’ve given them—whether it’s new or old, big or small, a temporary layover or the place where they were born—it calls them back.

They come back to comfort, to love, to traditions. They come back to where someone is always thinking about them. Dreaming about them. Loving them.

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This life may take them far away from us. And the path may not always be easy. For them. For us.

But our children come back to us.

Originally published on No Sick Days For Mom—Cheryl Gottlieb Boxer, Writer