When my son was around 3 years old, we went to an arcade at the mall that had a ride that was big enough for the two of us. It tilted back and forth, like a boat out on choppy waters. I have a video of us on that ride that day, and I will never forget it because it was one of my bluer days. I used to have those a whole lot than I do now; days that were so blue I could barely get out of bed. When those days came, my best remedy would always be time outside with my son, under the sun and in the breeze. Going anywhere together helped a lot, and that day I wanted to hear him laugh and see him happy, so we went to the arcade.

I remember how tightly he wrapped his arms around me as the ride made us wobble and squeal. He laughed and looked at me, the look on his face one of total trust and dependence. We held each other until the ride ended, and his tiny little voice said, “we’re all done mommy! What’s next?” We didn’t have a lot of disposable income when he was younger, but we lived near several outdoor spaces and malls. We always found ways to have fun without spending much, just happy that we were together on a little adventure.

These days, he’s a pre-teen who doesn’t really need me as much. He still requires cuddles and squeezy massages and tons of hugs, but he’d much rather be with friends than hanging out with mom. Thankfully, my daughter is only 6 and is very much still into mommy. I let her give me makeovers and we have our at-home spa days, where she often falls asleep as I give her a pretend facial. She’s a little firecracker that one, with feelings flying about without a moment’s notice; a force to be reckoned with.

I always knew this was coming; my relationship with my children was always going to change, however slow the inevitable may come. What I didn’t really realize up until recently was the fact that the way I love him was going to have to change too. When they’re babies, you are their very existence. They can do absolutely nothing without you, and they must be first and foremost in your day to day. If they are not, then they don’t survive, they cannot thrive. They become toddlers and then you start to encourage independence, but you’re standing close by, knowing that you’d be needed every other minute. Now that I’m here, at the precipice of yet another change, I have to learn to love him in a way that teaches him how to someday leave me.

What I mean is, his dad and I have to start teaching him how to live without me. How to pick up after himself, how to fix basic things, where clean shirts live and where the dirty ones go. How to manage his time, the value of money, choosing the right friends. How to be respectful, what it means to be a man, what it means to be a good brother. The basis of his faith, that often being kind is better than being right, that not all battles need to be fought. Everything I teach him from here on in must prepare him, and myself, for yet another inevitable thing: living his own life.

This makes everything feel a lot more weighty, a lot more substantial. The pressure can feel intense. But it also forces me to be more intentional— my words and my actions both. I always thought I was going to have a lot more time before this point, but I guess that’s everyone’s problem, isn’t it? We always think we have a lot more time than we actually do. The saying really does ring true: the days are long but the years are so very short. Almost doesn’t seem fair, if I’m being honest. But it is what it is.

All of this reminds me of this one time I was talking to someone about faith. I forget the context, but he turned to me, in almost a haughty way, and said that I was lucky I had that. That I believed in something that made everything easier. He didn’t have that; no faith and no God to make life lighter. But I knew he didn’t really think I was lucky—I knew he thought I was stupid for being a Christian. I don’t know where that guy is now, but that conversation replays in my head when I find myself having to accept that some things are out of my control. Without God in my life, I’d definitely go insane trying to control everything, the most futile activity in the world. And being a parent is definitely full of moments that you absolutely have no control over. Every day I pray for God to protect my kids, because I know I won’t always be able to. If being a Christian is stupid, then I hope I’m the kid sitting in the corner with a dunce cap on my head. Because that guy was right—my faith and my God definitely makes it lighter.

One day, my son and my daughter will leave our home. They’ll build their own lives, maybe get married and have kids, maybe live an epic single life. Either way, it’ll be theirs to live, along with all the mistakes and heartbreak and loss. Hopefully, it’ll mostly be joy and celebration and peace, a life that was so full of love early on they have so much of it to give. But for today, we’re still working on doing homework on time and putting away their dirty underwear. I’ll let tomorrow deal with tomorrow. For now, I need to go and take all the sniffkisses I can get, before they get too big for cuddles. Whenever that day comes, I know that it will always come too soon.