It was just a few weeks into the school year. He had already had his last first football practice, his last first game, the senior breakfast, and the senior drape pictures. All the milestones were coming fast, and each one felt like a little goodbye wrapped in celebration.
I thought I was handling it pretty well.
Every “last” came with a subtle, emotional punch
Sure, I’d already cried behind my sunglasses on the first day. I choked up during senior night pre-game announcements and teared up again when I picked out the photo for his senior football banner. Every “last” came with a subtle, emotional punch—a quiet reminder that this chapter of life was winding down, whether I was ready or not. I wasn’t falling apart on the outside, but on the inside, I was quietly bracing for what was coming.
And I think my son could tell.
One evening, not long after another milestone moment, he asked if we could talk. That’s always a phrase that lands a little heavy, right? So I braced myself. But what he said wasn’t dramatic or emotional.
It was honest. Mature. And completely unexpected.
My son reminded me that this is my senior year
“Mom,” he started gently, “I know this year is going to be sad for you. I get it. There are a lot of ‘lasts’—and I know that’s hard. But this is my senior year. This is the greatest year of my life so far. I have a lot to look forward to. I don’t want to feel like I have to worry about you being torn up about all of it. Can you try to focus on the ‘firsts’ that are coming for me, too?”
His words stopped me in my tracks.
Here was my child—on the brink of adulthood—asking me not just to let go, but to look forward with him. To shift my view from endings to beginnings. To stop narrating everything in terms of what I was losing and start noticing what he was gaining.
His words didn’t come from a place of frustration or judgment. They came from love—and maybe a little hope that I could meet him where he was: standing at the edge of everything new.
I don’t remember exactly what I said back. But I know what I thought.
I thought about my own senior year and how I would’ve felt if my mom had cried or broken down every time I reached a milestone. If she had made every big moment about her sadness instead of my excitement. If I’d had to carry her grief alongside my own anticipation.
I didn’t have the right to hand my emotions to my son to manage
And I realized, in that moment, that while I had every right to feel all the emotions that come with letting go—I didn’t have the right to hand those emotions to my son to manage.
So I took his advice. I didn’t stop feeling. I didn’t stop tearing up at the little things or imagining what it would feel like when the house was a little quieter. But I did start noticing his joy more than my own sadness. I smiled more. I took pictures and celebrated instead of bracing for heartache.
I thought about what he was stepping into, not just what he was stepping away from.
And it changed everything.
That shift in perspective didn’t just help me—it helped him
His senior year didn’t become any less bittersweet—but it became more balanced. Because I stopped standing with both feet in the past and started walking, at least a little, into the future with him.
That shift in perspective didn’t just help me—it helped him. And if you’re a parent walking through your child’s senior year, I want to offer you that same advice.
You’re going to feel a lot this year. And that’s okay.
You’ll wake up in disbelief some mornings, wondering how you got from preschool lunchboxes to prom fittings so quickly. You’ll find yourself whispering things like, “This is the last time we’ll…” more often than you expected. These moments matter. The “lasts” matter.
But don’t let them be the only thing you see.
Because right alongside every ending is the start of something new. A first you don’t want to miss.
Let your kids see you proud, not just sentimental
This is your child’s first time applying to colleges or trade schools or jobs. Their first time dreaming about a life on their own terms. Their first time testing their wings with genuine hope and possibility. And they need you to notice those things too.
Let them see you proud, not just sentimental. Let them feel your excitement more than your fear. Let them have this year without the weight of carrying your grief for it.
And when the time comes to let go—whether it’s in the parking lot of a dorm, a driveway on move-out day, or the early morning goodbye before a new job or the military—remind yourself that this is what you’ve been preparing them for all along.
Not just to grow up. But to launch.
Yes, the lasts still matter. But so do the firsts.
The conversation with my son gave me a new lens
That conversation with my son didn’t erase the ache of letting go. But it gave me a new lens. It reminded me that the end of something doesn’t have to be the focus when the beginning of something else is so full of promise.
So if you’re in this season—this year of letting go—I hope you’ll also lean into the joy of what’s ahead. Celebrate the growth. Soak in the excitement. Let your child feel your joy right alongside theirs.
It’s okay to feel everything. Just don’t forget to look forward. Because the best advice I ever got about parenting a senior didn’t come from a book or a blog or a wise adult.
It came from the senior himself.
And I’ll never stop being grateful he said it out loud.
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