Welcome to my personal space, where I write through change, learning, and healing in real time. Written by a 45-year-old mother of three, learning AI, online systems, and how to stay sane and healthy, one honest step at a time.
Elle Suhardi
January 8, 2026
I am already dreading the next goodbye, saying goodbye to my eldest son as he returns to Manchester on the 11th of January.
Does it ever get easier? Are there ways to cope with this feeling? Is this normal?
I find myself crying just thinking about the fact that by next Sunday, he will be gone again. I wish it was not this hard. I often wonder if other parents feel this way too, or if this is something I am meant to carry quietly on my own.
I cannot bear the thought of his empty room again.
He has been home since the 24th of December. These past few weeks, my heart has felt so complete.
I love having him home. I love seeing his laundry basket full of his clothes. We spent our days going out to his favourite restaurants, and I made him his favourite home-cooked meals. These moments bring me so much joy, ordinary, simple moments that somehow mean everything.
This has been the longest he has ever been away from me, almost three months, and now I am being asked to accept that this is my new reality.
He is grown.
He is a man.
And still, in my heart, he is my baby.
Somewhere on Instagram, I saw a post that said you only have 18 years with your children, and after that, you get about one year with them collectively over the rest of your life.
That thought struck me deeply.
It felt unbearable. That cannot be true. I am not ready to let him go. And yet, that is exactly what I must do.
It is hard for me. I am not ready to let him go.
But I am not afraid to show my tears. I want him to know that this is love. My tears are love. The depth of my sadness comes from the depth of my love, and that is something I am not ashamed of. It is not that I do not want him to go and live his life. I am proud of him. I want to see him thrive and succeed, and we will support him in every way we can.
But I will still cry.
Because I love him. And I want him to know that.
I am grateful that I still have the little ones to keep me busy. They are great blessings in our life. Their laughter and routines anchor me on days when my heart feels especially heavy.
My husband is silently supportive, as he always is. He does not say much, but he is always there. He knows when to comfort me quietly and when to give me space to cry. That kind of presence speaks louder than words.
To me, crying is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign of love.
This is the same way I respond when I think about my brother.
When I hear his favourite song or when a memory surfaces unexpectedly, the tears come freely. And I am at peace with that.
I never want to stop missing him. Missing him is how I continue loving him. It is how I remember him.
In the same way, dreading the next goodbye is not something I want to fix or erase. It is simply part of loving deeply.
I know this relationship with my children is different from the one I had with my own parents, especially my mother. I cannot help but notice the contrast. I do not want to reopen old wounds or dwell on pain for the sake of comparison, but the awareness comes naturally.
I choose to learn from that pain.
I choose to learn from that pain. I choose to show my children my love as openly and as often as I can. And it shows in the relationship we already have. I am grateful for all their love. I am grateful that I can receive their hugs and hear them tell me that they love me naturally. It is not forced. It is not difficult.
That is all I could ever ask for.
So for now, it is another goodbye.
With all my love and prayers for him in Manchester, until he is back in my arms again.
A. Many parents find that it does not necessarily get easier, but it becomes more familiar. The emotions remain because the love remains.
A. Yes. Anticipatory grief is common, especially when children live far away. Feeling anxious does not mean you are not coping, it means you are deeply connected.
A. For many parents, yes. Crying can be an expression of love, release, and emotional honesty rather than weakness.
A. Absolutely. Pride and sadness often coexist. Supporting your child’s growth does not mean suppressing your emotions.
A. Yes. For some people, missing someone is how love continues. It is not something to move past, it is something to carry.
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