I am sitting outside on my front steps marveling at the day lilies. Each one is a masterpiece of rich blending color, the red and yellow petals beckoning the sun to come closer to illuminate its beauty. From sunrise to sunset, each one is a gift. But its awesome wonder seems so fleeting.

I am teary. Again.

My first-born child just turned 18. How did that happen? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I doubled over with the searing stings of labor? Didn’t I just hear his first cries, rock him to sleep, dab the calamine lotion on his chicken pox, teach him to read and ride his bike?
How did he get to be so tall and handsome, athletic, funny and smart?

His father and I have been there for all the firsts — first steps, first words, first loose tooth, First Communion, first hit in Little League, first roller coaster ride, first road test, first date, first acceptance letter. And next month we will be there for his first day of college.

The same lump that formed in my throat when I dropped him off at nursery school has reappeared as I ponder the thought of leaving him alone in a dorm room at a faraway campus.

These days, I can cry just looking at Joey. I can still feel the way my heart plummeted beneath my stomach when we lost sight of each other in the grocery store; the way it overflowed with pride at his championship basketball game; the way it mirrored his sheer delight when we finally broke down and got him the dog he always wanted (the same dog who, I predict, will sink into the despairs of doggie depression the minute he moves out of the house).

When Joey was in the fourth grade, I chaperoned his class trip to the state capital. When we got home, he typed up a note that still hangs on the corkboard behind my desk:
“My Mom always looks really pretty. When I went on a field trip, she wore my favorite dress that she has. It is a light green color, and I think that it is very very very very pretty! All of her dresses are pretty, but I like that one the most. My Mommy has the prettiest dresses and the most beautiful face in the whole wide world. Plus I love her so much I wrote her this note!! from Joey your oldest son”

I know that moving away is a natural part of growing up and that these will be his years of maturity, adventure and self-discovery. I trust that the values we have tried to instill in him early on have taken root and will kick in when he needs them. I believe that his faith will sustain him. I know that he has to make his own choices and learn from his mistakes. I do, I really do.

But what if his roommate turns out to be a drug addict? What if he bows to the pressure and parties every night? What if he doesn’t study and fails his courses? What if he gets into the wrong car with the wrong person on the wrong night?

I love him so much that the thought of him all alone out there in the big wide world paralyzes me with fear. The anxiety overtakes the anticipation.

Yet, truth be told, I am not liking my son very much these days. With graduation and the ensuing party behind us, it seems there is not much more I am good for, with the exception of my car keys and wallet. Joey seems sullen, distant. He much prefers his friends over his family. He is independent, free, “experienced,” and clearly knows more than his parents will ever know. On certain days, he can be downright mean.

It is almost as if he is deliberately pushing me away, erecting an invisible barrier to keep us apart. Perhaps he is. Maybe there is some built-in mechanism that turns on inside to ease the transition and protect him from the pain of actual separation down the road. I wish I had one, too.

It is dusk. The petals of the day lilies are beginning to close. Like the children entrusted to our care, in the blink of an eye they will be gone. God’s miraculous circle of life continues.

(Kathleen M. Gallagher, a native of Long Island, is director of Pro-Life Activities and of the Catholic Advocacy Network for the New York State Catholic Conference.)

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