I sat on his desk chair and he sat on his bed and we cried. The quivering of anyone’s chin when they cry makes me instantly dissolve, but my eighteen year-old, sweet, really really good, beautiful son’s chin? Forget it. Knife through heart. My first child’s first broken heart has left me with a pain like no other. It’s not that I really cared so much about her. I want to put him in a clear glass jar and keep him safe and happy and never let him out until I know that everything that comes his way is going to meet him with kindness and joy.
That is certainly not the way it goes.
There will be more broken hearts and disappointments, but the pain of the first child’s first heartbreak will stay with me for a long long time. I freaking hate it.