By Kelly Odom 
It’s 12:38 p.m. I’m fixing lunch. It’s the end of spring break, the last spring break. It’s my son’s senior year, and the first of the lasts are coming on strong.
I grab a pan from the pantry, trying to occupy myself. “Don’t look out the window. Don’t look out the window.” I keep telling myself. I can hear a truck pulling up in the backyard and voices yelling back and forth. I just keep my eye on the stove. I told myself I wouldn’t look. I couldn’t look. But then I did.
My son’s childhood playground is standing idly by. A few men, each barely 20 years old, are trying to decide how to load it on their trailer. My husband, standing in their midst, directs them on how to load and secure it. They didn’t even know how to adjust a ratchet strap. A young father, just starting his journey with his son. I was a little jealous. I remember racing Matchbox cars with my own son down the slide of that playset. I remember pushing my son in the swing as he screamed, “Higher, higher.”
Then I saw my husband standing beside that playground, protectively securing it so it would make the journey to its new home. He built the whole thing himself when our son was two. He and his dad, who just passed away a few months ago, spent hours cutting and staining and hammering the very playground that now belongs to another little boy. So I know this was a bittersweet moment for him too. Then the young father caught my eye. He was grinning from ear to ear and rubbing his hands together like he had won the lottery. He just kept saying over and over how much his son was gonna love this. He kept thanking my husband, then he waved goodbye.
My husband stood in the yard as they drove away, and that’s when I lost it. Tears streamed down my face at the realization that senior year is going way too fast and no matter what I do, I can’t stop it. I should have gotten rid of the set years ago—it has been sitting in our backyard as a relic for ages. But this exact moment is why I didn’t, because it made me acknowledge that part of my life is coming to an end. It’s the same feeling I felt when my dad passed away and I watched out the window of my mom’s kitchen as someone pulled Dad’s old tractor away. It’s the realization of a chapter closing.
Would I go back if I could? Nope. I am so proud of who my son is now, and looking so forward to the places he will go next. This stage of life may be closing, but all the new chapters that are yet to be written . . . well, I am here for all of them. Each stage of childhood is precious, and each one has its own excitement. I am so blessed. I may have more of a sideline role now, but I will always be his biggest fan, and I will wait on the bench til he needs an assist.
My backyard may be empty, but this mama’s heart is full, and I am so excited to see what comes next.
Originally published on the author’s blog
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