Tomorrow, my son officially leaves the nest.

When you become a mother, your whole life changes in multiple ways, one of which is gaining a new perspective. An infant is depending on you for its very survival, and with that level of responsibility, you begin to see the world differently. Your sense of what your child needs or what can harm them only grows as they age, encompassing every decision you make, and continues to do so as time goes on. Then suddenly, 18 years have gone by and you’re standing on the doorstep of a new perspective, one that has them leaving the home and becoming their own adult. It’s too bizarre to put into words properly. My mind can’t seem to comprehend it.

There’s this weird time distortion field that happens where, while you’re experiencing those 18 years, it passes as slow as molasses. But when you reach the 18-year mark, it instantly compresses all that time down into what feels like 18 minutes. “How,” you ask, “did time go by so fast?” And while I’ve known the career my son has been working towards for several years now, and we’ve been talking about it and planning for it all this time, it still feels surreal now that he’s reached that point.

People will stop and tell you to cherish the moments with your children because all too soon they’ll be gone, and usually they give you this enlightening advice while your child is on the floor of Walmart throwing a full-blown temper tantrum. I don’t know why, but I always thought that if I took it to heart it wouldn’t be so hard to accept their leaving when the time came. As if soaking in all those memories would somehow make their leaving easier to accept.

Now that the time is nigh, I realize there’s no amount of preparation you can do for this stage that will soften its impact. It’s just one of those things that you have to brace for and experience as it happens. The term “bittersweet” has never been more fitting. I’m incredibly proud of my son and his chosen career and couldn’t be happier that he’s getting to do what he loves. I’m also going to miss him so very much.

There’s a moment in AWAKENING where a character has to say goodbye to beloved family members. I wrote it many years before I thought about my son’s leaving, and yet as I try and process what is about to happen, I cannot help but feel like I’m living it in real time.

All too soon, the piwakeys were packed and ready to transport her family southward during the night, and her last goodbyes were said. As Katula stood on the banks of the Tae River and watched the most important people in her life paddle downstream, she couldn’t help but feel a piece of her soul had broken through its bodily cage and left with them.

When that plane leaves the runaway carrying my son away with it, I can assure you, a piece of my own soul will go with him.

PS: Send tissues. I’ve gone through all mine.