Her last Friday... and mine.

Today, my daughter said, “It’s my last Friday.”

These past few weeks - these past few months - have been full of lasts. The last school play. The last prom dress hanging behind her bedroom door. The last time I’ll pack her lunch with a Hershey’s Kiss tucked inside.

She is my baby. And this one hits a little different.

Because these aren’t just her lasts. They’re mine too.

The last time I sit in the car, checking her out early, and watch her walk toward me.

The last time I hear her stomp around getting ready while I sip my coffee and pretend not to cry.

The last time I get to be her audience, her chauffeur, her biggest cheerleader - in the everyday.

The last time I’m the keeper of her schedule, her snacks, and her stories.

There’s a quiet grief in these little goodbyes. Not because I’m not proud - I am. But because motherhood is made of sacred letting go. And no one tells you just how much it’ll take out of you.

I know there are beautiful firsts waiting on the other side of this. But today, we’re sitting in the last Friday. And I’m letting that matter.

Because it’s the ordinary days that wreck you…in the best kind of way.