I don’t know why I’m even writing this. It’s stupid. It’s not a big deal but… Ugh. I just… I was folding laundry. My son's high school jerseys. You know, the ones he’s worn since freshman year. They’re getting too small now. The basketball one with the number three, the faded baseball one, the track uniform that smells like sweat and whatever sports drink he always uses. And I just… I started crying. Like, full-on ugly crying. Just standing there in his room. His room. Which is going to be EMPTY next month. Empty and silent. Every single day, every single day for the past eighteen years, it's been about him. From the moment he woke up until he was finally asleep. What he needed, what he wanted, what homework he had, what practice was next, what friends he was hanging out with. It was always him. And yeah, I loved it. I do love it. But my whole life, EVERYTHING, has been about being his mom. Being a single mom. It was always just us. And now… now he’s just going to leave. He’s going to go to college. And I’m just supposed to be fine. I know I’m supposed to be happy for him. And I am. So proud. He got into his dream school, he worked so hard. But it’s like… what about me? What am I going to do? This house is going to be so quiet. I keep thinking about how I won't hear his stupid music thumping from his room, or him yelling at his games, or even just him clattering around in the kitchen at midnight looking for snacks. It’s going to be so quiet. TOO quiet. And it’s selfish. I know it’s selfish. To feel this way. My friends, they’re all like "Oh, you'll have so much free time!" and "You can finally do things for yourself!" And I just nod and smile and pretend like that sounds amazing. But I don't even know what that means. Do things for myself? What do I even like to do? I haven't had a hobby in like… two decades. My whole identity, my whole reason for being, has been wrapped up in him. And now that’s just… gone. Poof. I was just standing there, holding that sweaty basketball jersey, and I just felt this huge wave of panic. Like a punch to the gut. What am I supposed to do now? Who am I going to be? It's like I have to start all over again. And I’m exhausted. Just thinking about it. So yeah. I cried. Over laundry. Because my son is leaving. And I’m completely lost.