Contrary to popular belief, there’s something to be said about Monday mornings. Or maybe it’s the sound of tiny feet pounding against wooden floor boards that brings me peace. He’s an infinite source of joy and wonder, wrapped up in such a small package, with features that don't stray too far from my own.

They say acts of service is a love language, and I am in constant practice. He stumbles from his room; the tag from his shirt juts out from beneath his chin, hair swept catastrophically from his eyes, his toes covered by only one shoe. Somewhere in the distance, the coffee machine chirps abruptly, but goes unnoticed. Our laughter rings true as I join him in the doorway, adjusting his clothing and pointing toward the bathroom.

I blink, and here we are. Idling before his school. He’s in the backseat, an apple clenched between his teeth as he shoves open the door. There’s a small group of kids standing a few feet from the curb. They turn their heads and grin as he rushes over, pulling the apple from his mouth. My heart warms as he brings two in for a hug. The acknowledgement of a secondary emotion flickers through my mind as they disappear behind large steel doors. My gaze falls to the radio as I shift between gears, following the other parents out of the parking lot.

I blink, and here we are. A gymnasium crowded by blue gowns and wide, awkward hats. He releases me, breaking our embrace with a grin that starts with the eyes and stretches across his face. My gaze follows him as he strides into the center of a group, slinging his arm around a boy with blonde curls. I don’t try to stop the smile that tips my lips, turning from the kids to address the remaining members of our family.

I blink, and it’s happened again. Another milestone, another change, another beginning. He stands a few feet away, placing the last box in the trunk of his car. He turns and there’s tears streaming down his face. I open my mouth to offer something encouraging but he shakes his head and wraps me in a hug. Something about the image of his vehicle being swallowed by trees brought me to my knees. I turn toward the house - somehow it doesn’t seem so empty.