My oldest officially moved out.
Not far — just next door to his grandparents — so we’re calling it a soft move. But still… it’s a move. A change. A new chapter.
After graduation, he had been living in our little mother-in-law apartment here at home — close, but with his own space. Now, for the first time, he’s living off our property, and even though it’s only 10 minutes away and I still get to see him, I don’t see him every day anymore. That’s stings a little bit.
I cried a few days before the move. Quiet tears. Mom tears. The kind that sneak up on you when your heart is full and hurting at the same time. But on moving day, I was ready. Proud. Steady. Even joyful — because I know this is exactly what’s supposed to happen.
Watching your child grow more independent — even if they’re just down the road — is such a beautiful, bittersweet thing. You’re cheering for their future while learning to sit with the quiet they leave behind.
He’s settling in, spreading his wings, and figuring out life a little more on his own — with the safety net of grandparents just next door. And my heart? It’s doing its best to keep up.
If you’re a parent, do you remember the first time one of your kids moved out? How did it feel for you?
