“You will miss me the most,” my youngest child said unexpectedly one day. “Because after I’m gone, it is going to be really, really quiet here.”
And just like that, the truth slipped out of the mouth of a sixteen-year-old. A truth so sharp and undeniable it stopped me cold.
There is something unique about eldest children. We don’t love them more than the others, but their very arrival changes everything. Their existence transforms us from carefree, self-focused young adults into parents. For me, no one has ever altered my life as completely as my firstborn did.
But my youngest son has a point. His departure will carry a change of equal weight. My oldest made me a mother. My youngest will make me an empty nester.
This transition is not sudden—it is a slow march, a decade-long process of learning to let go. It begins when that first driver’s license is handed over, when curfews stretch into later nights, when the kitchen calendar starts filling with SAT test dates, college visits, and move-in days. Our children begin the long process of leaving, one foot in and one foot out, until eventually they have someplace else to call home.
During these years, parents often feel like air traffic controllers—schedules are out of our hands. We are left to orchestrate arrivals, departures, and unexpected returns, hoping to keep everything moving smoothly. And in the midst of it all, it is the youngest child who stands between us and the emptiness.
This is the child who was always tagging along to older siblings’ activities, who sometimes didn’t get the attention they deserved, who was rarely the first to do anything. This is the child who stayed behind, watching siblings endure the college process, find their places, and move into adulthood. If a family has an audience, it is the youngest child.
But when the youngest begins their own countdown, everything changes. With older children, we knew there would be another “last time”—another last birthday at home, another last game, another last back-to-school night. With the youngest, there is no “next time.” Every milestone is final.
And yet, before they leave, something extraordinary happens. The youngest child, who grew up in the shadows of older siblings, becomes for a time an only child again—this time on the doorstep of adulthood. For a year, or two, or maybe five, they have us all to themselves. And in that season, parents often become the kind of parent they always wanted to be: more relaxed, more confident, more present.
My youngest has watched me miss his siblings. He has seen me cry as they left, and smile as they returned, and quietly adapt to the new rhythm of our family. He is wise enough to see the truth: his leaving will be different.
Because just as my first child’s arrival changed me forever, my last child’s departure will change me again.
And he is right. I will miss him the most.
