There’s an interesting phenomenon when you watch the sun set over the horizon at the water’s edge.

It’s the speed.

Most of the time, I’m not really aware of the speed of the sun across the sky. Over hours, sure, but minutes and seconds? Not really.

But at sunset, at least for me, it’s really noticeable.

The descent and the disappearance. It all happens so quickly. Like, if you blink, you’ll miss it.

I found myself both grasping and letting go at the same time.

Wanting to savor those final moments of recognizable beauty while also peacefully recognizing that there’s nothing I can do to stop the transition from day to night.

This was all happening against the backdrop of the close of a weekend with some of my adult children.

Once upon a time, there were months, weeks, days, and hours that I would spend with them consecutively. Now, not so much. They have their own lives and the time we spend together feels more and more like the few moments before the sun goes down across the horizon.

I feel the energy of those moments, savoring them and I feel the peaceful release, knowing that they are going.

But I take comfort in two things.

First, this is the way of the world. I WANT my kids to go off and live their own lives. That’s literally the job description.

And second, I know that, like the night becomes day, there will come a moment when I feel the warmth of their presence on my skin and in my soul once again.

The cycle and the flow.

I seek to embrace them both.

There’s an interesting phenomenon when you watch the sun set over the horizon at the water’s edge.

It’s the speed.

Most of the time, I’m not really aware of the speed of the sun across the sky. Over hours, sure, but minutes and seconds? Not really.

But at sunset, at least for me, it’s really noticeable.

The descent and the disappearance. It all happens so quickly. Like, if you blink, you’ll miss it.

I found myself both grasping and letting go at the same time.

Wanting to savor those final moments of recognizable beauty while also peacefully recognizing that there’s nothing I can do to stop the transition from day to night.

This was all happening against the backdrop of the close of a weekend with some of my adult children.

Once upon a time, there were months, weeks, days, and hours that I would spend with them consecutively. Now, not so much. They have their own lives and the time we spend together feels more and more like the few moments before the sun goes down across the horizon.

I feel the energy of those moments, savoring them and I feel the peaceful release, knowing that they are going.

But I take comfort in two things.

First, this is the way of the world. I WANT my kids to go off and live their own lives. That’s literally the job description.

And second, I know that, like the night becomes day, there will come a moment when I feel the warmth of their presence on my skin and in my soul once again.

The cycle and the flow.

I seek to embrace them both.