Recently on the facebook a friend posted a maudlin post about how he is sad yet proud of his growing little boy.
It really hit home with me.
Childhood is like a really good book.
You first start not knowing what the story will be like just a vague idea as to the way it plays out. Sometimes it can be hard to really get it moving but you move along.
Soon enough the story pulls you in and captivates you. You are enthralled with all the elements. You enjoy your time getting to know these characters and living within their lives.
Time flies by as you hungrily devour each word.
The words zip by, then the chapters.
Then you are looking at the book and seeing how many pages are left.
A kind of sadness befalls you because you don’t want to see the story end, you are not ready to leave yet but there is the end right there looming closer and closer.
Finally the last chapter ends and you close the book.
All you have left is a memory of the story as your child then starts writing their next volume.
The end of childhood is like the passing of a loved one
Sure you are proud of your child and the accomplishments they have done but there will never be any more firsts for you.
No more first steps, first scares, first wonders
Like any death in your life all you can do is accept it and move forward.
At least with adulthood you still have a person whom you can love and loves you right back.
However, there will always be a hole in your life, a part of you will always miss the child that was.