More often than not anymore, our conversations turn toward what’s coming.

Toward his inevitable departure.

How he will move.

What he will do when he is gone.

How we will handle the adult things.

Like a car.

A job.

Where he’ll live.

What he’ll leave with.

And come back for.

There is no talk of college anymore, and I’m okay with that.

Because he has plans and dreams.

A lifetime career in the land of the mouse.

He is taking a leap.

A leap I never dared to take.

To chase a dream.

And we are ready to rally behind him, and encourage such reckless dream chasing.

Or not so reckless – after all he’s a planner, a saver, a stingy penny-pincher, willing to go the distance to achieve his end-game.

And yet…

He is leaving.

If all goes well, in seven or eight months we will get in a car and I will take him south, get him settled, and leave him to his future hundreds of miles away.

The first to leave the nest.

To strike out on his own and take chances, make friends, create a life.

And I can only hope that we have given him the tools he needs to succeed. To live a life to its fullest. To care for his CF. To care for himself. To create a home.

And while I have my worries, as all mothers do.

I am proud that he is taking a risk to chase a dream.

I have a strong feeling he’ll succeed.