I miss my son. It’s been 4 days since we left him to start a new life in a new town. He packed up most of his stuff, carried his television down and stowed it in the back of the SUV, and the three of us (Ron and I in one car and Simeon in the other) formed a mini-caravan to his beginning. I didn’t drive. That morning, while running final errands, I’d almost run a red light and later didn’t even notice a car headed toward me in my lane. My son deemed me unfit to be behind the wheel. He may have been right. When the woman at the bank asked me if he was leaving for school I almost cried. That surprised me.

I have been looking forward to this moment for several months. I’ve pushed and cajoled my son into doing what must be done to graduate. I’ve used every moment as a teaching (he would say “nagging”) moment. I’ve talked to him about what adult responsibility looks like. I hope I’ve modeled it to some degree. I was ready!
Yeah! Freedom!

But the place feels different without him. I still automatically check his room when I wake in the morning. And. It. Is. Very. Quiet. But… I did a little furniture rearranging. The desk where I write this is now in the room across the hall and a soft lamp burns behind me. I’ve relocated my sewing table and I can feel some creative juices starting to bubble up. The gas gauge on my car is exactly where it was when I last drove it. We’re both starting the next part of our lives. And we’ll both be okay.