When I miss the boy he was

Some days, Father, I miss the boy my son once was. I miss the sound of his younger voice, the small hand that reached for mine, and the ordinary noise of a house shaped by his growing. The quiet can catch me by surprise. I am grateful for the man he is, and still I ache for a season that cannot return.

Thank You for those years. Thank You for the laughter, the questions, the meals, the mess, and even the days that exhausted me. I did not always know how quickly they were passing. Hold those memories gently with me, without letting nostalgia make the present seem lesser.

Help me see my son as he is now. Keep me curious about the life he is living, not only sentimental about the life we shared. Let me listen to the man without searching every expression for the boy. Give me joy in his independence, his convictions, his humor, and all the ways he continues to grow.

There is a time for every purpose under heaven, and this season deserves my full heart too. When the house feels quiet, meet me in it. Let gratitude soften the loneliness. The boy I loved has not been lost. He has become a man I am still privileged to love. Teach me to cherish what was without reaching backward, and to welcome what is with open arms.