Boxes and silence
I’m lying on my son’s bed as I write this. About 30 minutes, he drove off with the things he’s taking to college from my place. He headed to his mom’s place to finish packing, and on Saturday they’ll fly out of state so he can move into his dorm.
I won’t be there, unfortunately. Other obligations keep me here, and the reality of that has settled in. The house feels so empty now. His room is crowded with boxes and the things he couldn’t bring or wanted to donate, but I keep seeing younger versions of him playing in this space, laughing, smiling, growing. What feels like four years ago is really eight or more, and somehow it all went by in an instant.
Before he left, we shared a long hug and cried into each other’s shoulders. I was the one that cracked and came apart first. After he left, I had a bigger cry alone. I knew this would be hard. I just wish I had a little more time because I already miss him so much.