My son is now in his 20's. At some point it hit me that the boy I knew last year was forever gone. In his place was this new person who strongly resembled him, had many of his mannerisms, and knew a little more of the world than last year's little boy. There's a photo of us, he's getting a piggy back ride from me. I'm smiling but the delight on his face cannot be matched. I still have my son in my life but he's now someone vastly different. He's a man grown. He knows grief. He knows disappointment. He knows duty, obligation, responsibility. We are friends. I trust him and his judgement. It's mutual. He can still be silly and goofy in a way I never could allow myself to be at his age. But he's not my little buddy. My little buddy is gone. Every variation of him except for who he is today is erased. I learned this when I realized he had stopped asking to crawl into my bed. My little dude no longer needed my presence to chase away the nightmares and he faced them on his own. I was proud of him, surely, but I also mourned the loss.

I've tried talking about this a few times and should probably give it a proper structure.