Life sometimes reminds you of big things in little ways. Such as the other day when I opened the pantry door to see what I needed to buy at the store for school lunches. A simple task I’ve done every day for my three sons during the last 13 years. It suddenly hit me that my oldest son wouldn’t be needing a lunch any more: That very day was his last day of high school before graduation. It was one of those surreal moments.

Simultaneously, I had an image of my 6-feet-5 17-old, while I also envisioned him as he looked on his very first day of school with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

I remember when I first walked him into kindergarten at Morrisville Elementary school. He had on a blue shirt and white shorts. We’d gotten his hair cut the day before and had bought school supplies weeks earlier. I can still recall the heat of the sun on that warm July morning as we walked across the parking lot, his hand in mine. He was so excited, though it was bittersweet for me.

And now we are at another point of change, as my son, Billy, begins college at N.C. State. When I was a freshman in college back in the dark ages, I remember how I felt when my parents left me in the dorm room that first day. After hugs and kisses, they walked out the door, closing it behind them, and I stood staring at it, amazed that chapters of one’s life can begin with such a simple act. I later wrote a poem about it called “Closing the Door,” and it was not only about how I felt but my musings about what my parents might have felt.

Now I know. And yes, it’s still that bittersweet feeling. I think about the little things like how Billy and I have always watched the show “24” together each week and how much I will miss having him there next season. I will miss his funny comments and his passion and optimism when talking about a Hurricanes or Red Sox game. I will most certainly miss the way he helps with the laundry.

When one of my own high school friends went off to college, his mom said she got teary-eyed every time she passed the blueberry Pop Tarts in the grocery store because that had always been her son’s favorite. I will feel that same way about the gallons of milk I have bought for Billy every week for years.

But he’s ready for this change. He has grown into a wonderful young man, responsible and kind. When Billy and my middle son were in elementary school, they loved the song, “I Believe I Can Fly” from the movie “Space Jam.” “I believe I can fly/ I believe I can touch the sky/I think about it every night and day/Spread my wings and fly away.” I regret that I never recorded them singing that song; I try to recall how they had sounded, but I can’t quite remember. One thing is sure, though: I do believe they can fly because there are lots of ways to reach goals, lots of ways to become better people, lots of ways to touch the sky. My sons will each find their own way to do that.

Billy is setting out to find his way, as are all the high school graduates. And they will find it, but they will never completely fly away from their parents; they will always be a part of us. Always.