Three years of college in another state brought him home for weekends. Each Sunday, we would stand on the driveway waving until we could not see his hand waving back as he drove up the driveway and down the road. When he moved back home and into the cabin in the backyard, the tradition stuck each morning. Me standing on the back porch waving; him flashing his lights, letting me know he saw me.
Such a simple thing. A simple wave. A simple flashing of lights.
Today it was different.
There is a house waiting for him in town. He has been preparing it for this weekend for a while now. He always follows through with his plans. When he gets something in his head, he makes it happen. He is moving this weekend.
He is packing up his belongings and vacating the property. Isn’t that what kids do? They are born and you are crazy in love with them. From the first moment you hold them in your arms, your heart is crushed by the weight of them. And they grow and instead of the weight lightening from their maturity, it intensifies. You may not be caring for them in the same way you did when they were little, but the caring becomes different. The weight of it becomes something you no longer can pick-up and hug. It is a weight that can only be carried in prayer.
They leave a slight vacancy in your heart. They are your life for so many years, almost 28 for him, and then they leave. He is ready. We are ready. But the absence of him is already being felt.
We have been through this once before. You would think it would be easy. Parenting isn’t easy. Even with adult children. Parenting is tough.
I waved a little longer this morning. Peeking through the door after closing it until his truck was gone from view. The weight heavy.
