We left him

on leaving boys, feeling your feelings, and needing God's grace

We did it. We left our second-youngest child, Rafe, in Florida, where he begins his freshman year of college this week—a mere 1,561 miles away. 

I’m reminding myself that it’s important to feel your feelings and not stuff them. I have said this so often through the years that my oldest son once picked up a microphone and attempted to imitate me recording my podcast: “Make sure you feel all of your feelings, girls!” 

Well, he was right. I am right, and yes, I feel sad and I miss him. That much is expected. The week before he left, my mom shared an old photo from when he was about 18 months old, and I put it on my phone as a screensaver. He still has chocolate eyes and soft curls, but he hasn’t worn those train pajamas in a long time.

Leaving Florida, when Dan and I boarded the plane for home, I opened my phone, saw the photo, and had a sudden, unconscious thought: Oh no! We left him!

The feeling reminded me of a time in Washington, D.C., years ago when we were on vacation with our then-six kids. Stephen was our almost two-year-old, and the whole gang of us was on the metro. When we got off at our stop, I was focused on soothing the baby strapped to my body, corralling other kids, and making sure we did not lose track of the bag—the one containing all of the money, credit cards, diapers, drinks, and clothing changes we would need for a day in the city—and I did not think to grab tiny Stephen’s hand. But the moment we stepped off the train, I knew it, and I panicked: Oh no! We left him! 

I spun around quickly and saw a woman on the train pick up his small body and hand him to Dan a split second before the doors closed. I still pray grateful prayers for that woman.

“Get it together,” I remember thinking to myself then, "What kind of mother does that?"

Only now I know the answer: The human kind. The human kind of mother that has feelings and limitations. The human kind that needs grace.

This is me in the hotel bathroom at the end of the day we said goodbye to Rafe. I wanted to memorialize the kind of tired I felt at the end of a day spent blinking back tears behind my sunglasses. I wanted to remember hugging him in his dorm room and feeling the nervous energy that told me he loved us but needed us to go now. We had installed the mini fridge and made up the bed. He needed to begin things he could only do on his own.

And I wanted to remember grace. The citation on my shirt is Ephesians 2:8

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God.

I had forgotten I even owned this shirt, but Dan pulled it out from somewhere when we were packing for this trip, and I added it to the suitcase. It was a reminder I needed. This is not from you; it is the gift of God.

We need to feel our feelings, but even more than that, we need God. God’s grace allows our kids to grow up and take on new and bigger challenges, sometimes far from home—far from the hearts where they started.

When Dan and I lay in bed that night in the hotel, he led us in prayers for Rafe.

“Give him grace, Lord,” I prayed as hot tears finally spilled from my eyes, soaking my hair and pillow, “to grow in every virtue.”

We left him, but there’s no cause for panic. Because there’s grace. Grace that is not from me, that is not from us, and that only God can give.

We might cry some tears and feel some feelings, but God gives us grace for every challenge. Grace to grow in holiness. Grace to trust that as attached as we are to people and connections in this life and as much as we mourn them as they pass and change, these are only a shadow of what “good” is.

The best is yet to come.

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In Giving Thanks and Letting Go, Danielle Bean ponders her emptying nest and overflowing heart as she encourages you to join her in leaning on God and discovering the joy and promise of this sacred season of parenting.