the hardest thing

If there was ever a weekend that I wanted to go slow, it was last weekend. I moved my oldest child into the dorms a week ago today. We had a whole weekend of FUN planned and Sunday seemed like a world away. Thank God.

As we moved him in. I was loving the time with him as we unpacked boxes and hung up his shirts. The simplest of things seemed to fill me with such joy. My daughter and I helped make his bed. My husband helped him hook up his TV. We ate yummy cookies that his roommates' mom had left in the mini fridge. Fellow dormmates stopped by and introduced themselves. It was just so surreal that my boy was actually moving into the dorms. Across the way from my old dorm!

Friday came and some of us parents went on a "Wine Tour". What a great idea! Fill the parents up with wine so, the kids can enjoy a day all to themselves! We toured three different area wineries. We drank. We ate. We laughed. We talked about how much we were dreading saying good-bye. Again, I was so thankful that I wasn't heading home until Sunday. (One of my friends was heading home that evening and my heart just broke for her.) I was so happy I wasn't.

Saturday rolled around and my husband and I got up early and went for a run. There was a home football game that night. There were tailgate parties to attend. There was family to visit. It was a gorgeous fall day - and I was so happy that I had another 24 hours before I had to say good-bye. As I moved around that day, I felt a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. No amount of food or wine could fill the emptiness I felt. I had an underlying sense of dread and just felt sick to my stomach.

I had a wonderful night with family. Got to bed early. Went for another run the next day. And, then, it was as if I was awaiting the guiliotine - I knew the time had come for me to say good-bye. I headed off to Rite Aid, Safeway, Walgreen's to pick up some things my son had requested. I wanted to make sure I left him with lots of snacks and necessities for his dorm room. Again, I had a pit in the bottom of my stomach that just wouldn't go away.

We pulled up to his dorm. My son greeted us in the circular drive, already looking so much more independent and grown-up than he had when we first arrived just two days earlier. We unpacked groceries and went up to his room. We hung out and made small talk with he and his roommate for a few minutes. And then, I knew. I knew it was time to go. Time to let him finally be on his own. He'd waited 18 years for this and I owed him that much - to let him get on with it. Get out of his way.

He walked us down to the car. I gave him a hug. I heard him whisper in my ear, "Don't cry, mama". Of course, all I wanted to do was cry but, I tried not to. I didn't want his last memory of me to be a blubbering idiot! So, I held it together and held on for dear life. I didn't want to let go. I knew that as soon as I did, he would be walking into his new life and I would be going back to my old life...without him. It was the worst feeling I have felt yet as a parent. I felt like I was leaving a piece of me behind. I was leaving my boy in a city, two hours from home. I felt sooo sad.

Luckily, I had my 11 year old daughter with me. She hates it when I cry. So, I knew I had to keep it together for her sake. We pulled away and I sniffled and hid tears beneath my sunglasses. She asked if I was crying. I said, "No, it's just my allergies."

As we pulled out of town, I passed a cemetary. There was a crowd of people standing around a gravesite. A preacher was standing before them. At that moment, it hit me that I had no right to be sad. This was not a sad occasion, but a joyful, exciting new adventure in his life. It was almost as if God was whispering to me that I needed to snap out it and embrace this journey. Suddenly, I felt a sense of peace throughout my entire body and for the first time in days, my stomach didn't ache.

Now, I'm not saying that I haven't cried a few times since then. Once I got home and had some time to myself, I cried. I had all this emotion balled up inside of me that needed to come out. It felt good to release it. Later that night at church, I cried again. It just felt so strange to be at church with just the 3 of us in the pew. I missed my boy. I missed hearing him sing. I missed holding his hand during the "Our Father."

His old jeep still sits parked in front of our house. I swear, sometimes I will pull up after work and my heart skips a beat ... and then, I remember he is not home. I will go upstairs and pass his room and it looks so sterile and cold. Or I will be lying in bed at night, expecting him to walk in the door at any moment and say "I'm home." But, it doesn't happen.

I know this is a good thing. (For heaven's sake, it's not like he is dead.) And, I know that kids moving out and moving on is what you hope for as a parent. That is what we train them their whole lives to do. But, the reality of it, is that it is hard and it hurts to see them leave. This is by far the hardest thing I've ever done. And, yet I know it is a necessary and pivotal moment in both of our lives. I know he couldn't be happier. Sometimes, being a mom is tough, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

And, I can't wait 'til Thanksgiving Break.