When I first had Case, I wasn’t in a headspace to recognize that Case’s golden year was technically his first year. If I’m being honest, I didn’t value that first year, or even the second year, like I wish I had. In truth, I was busy resenting I was a single mom. I look back and have so much regret for not knowing what I had, in the moment I had it.

The moments of outstretched arms from a baby bed.

The moments where the little words, their most valuable words, are “Mama.”

The moments they beg to sleep with you.

Jason was away on business last week, and I was giddy with excitement. “Case! You get to have a sleepover with me tonight!”

His eyes usually light up with pure joy! But this time, they looked conflicted. He didn’t want to have a sleepover with me. The proof of my heartbreak was written on my face.

He quickly tried to save the situation with, “Mom! I’ll sleep with you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

And there it is… the first part of the breakup. The softened blows of rejection. The part where you aren’t who they reach for; who they call out to; who they want to sleep in the bed with. You aren’t who they look for in a crowded room anymore. It’s a “the slow cut is the deepest” feeling.

It’s a tightness in the chest; one that’s inevitable. It’s a forever longing of what once was; that innocence. There is something about those years; the years he and I spent together, alone.

The nights we stayed up watching movies and eating snacks together. The late night grocery runs. The date nights he would use my card to take me out. The time I was his “sweet, beautiful love.” The times I miss the most. He was easily my first real love, as I was his.

I think he knew it broke my heart because he found me to tell me: “I promise I will come back to you, Mama.” It was a mix of the best and worst feeling.

This past year has grown my boy in so many ways. He was adopted into The Kingdom of Heaven; my brother in Christ. He found his independence and resolve in adversities. He stepped away from his comforts and comfort zones and thrived.

This year, he’s eleven on the eleventh month; a golden year.

While I’m so sad that my little boy is breaking up with me, I’m ready to see what relationship God has in store for me and him as a young man. This year cannot be topped; for this year his soul was redeemed. A dream come true for me; any parent.

Case and I used to talk about how we wondered if we would get to be the same age in Heaven together. He would to tell me, “I can’t wait to play with you, and us both be ten together.” I like to imagine such a thing exists.

These first eleven years have been pure golden, my boy. I am so glad God knew what this day would mean to me, long before I did. I love you an eighty-twenty, always!

Happy Birthday!