This morning I woke up early, not because of an alarm clock, but because my mind wouldn’t let me rest. The same thoughts I’ve had for years kept me awake. I got up quietly, made coffee, and watched the city outside my window wake up. People were on their way to work, cars were racing through the streets, but everything inside my house was frozen.
My 35-year-old son Javier still lives with me. His presence is everywhere, dirty dishes, clothes strewn everywhere, and the glow of his computer screen in the night. I know he stays up late, losing himself in video games and avoiding the real world.
I’ve tried to talk to him about moving out, but the words never come. Javier grew up without his mother and it was just the two of us. I worked hard to give him everything, but maybe I made a mistake by doing too much for him. I remember asking him to help a neighbor move furniture and he ignored me and said he was busy. That’s when I realized I’d made his life too easy and now he doesn’t know how to take responsibility.
My friends say I have to make him leave or he will never change. I know they are right. If I do nothing, he will stay in this limbo and never grow up. But how do I tell my son, the child I raised and loved, that he can no longer stay here?
Despite my frustration, Javier is still my son, the same little boy who once ran to me for comfort. But now he is a man who doesn’t want to grow up. I’m sick of seeing the chaos, the empty promises, and paying the bills while he does nothing. He takes temporary jobs but wastes his money on games and pointless things. He doesn’t seem to care.
I tried to talk to him again and told him it was time to build his own life. He didn’t answer. He just locked himself in his room and that silence hurt more than any argument.
Now I’m sitting here wondering what I did wrong. Maybe my friends are right and I need to push him out. He needs to start living like other people his age, working, taking responsibility and facing life.
I remember him helping me with shopping as a child and being proud to do something grown-up. We were a team. Now I’m alone. If I don’t do something, nothing will change. But how do I find the strength to tell my son that it’s time for him to go?
Deep down I know that this is not cruelty. It is love. Sometimes love means letting go, even if it is painful. Maybe one day he will understand that this is the best thing I can do for him. A father’s job is not only to protect his child, but to help him grow up. And when the time comes, I will have to say: “Javier, it is time for you to go”.