And so you go
out there, to life,
eager to leave the nest,
impatient to spread your wings.
In your face
there is such promise.
In your laugh, such nonchalance.
So much has changed,
yet there are moments—
       subliminal blips—
when I see still the toddler who,
       splayed in my lap or
              head snug against mine,
drank in one story after another,
whispered secrets in the dark,
spilled out kisses and laughs like a beneficent king.
There are moments
       when a pleased expression,
random outburst,
furrowed brow,
brings back a cherished glimpse
of that little boy lost.
In those moments,
it is hardest to say
farewell.
But I must,
and I can,
and I do—
then watch with pride and pain
through tears and years
of love.
And so you go.

From A Mother of Sons: Poems of Love, Wisdom, and Dreams (Loyola Press, 2004)
Used with the author's permission.