He was my partner-in-crime for movie marathons and late-night binge sessions. He’d pop the popcorn while I’d sneak in the chocolate stash. My firstborn had an uncanny ability to make me laugh until my sides hurt. Sure, my husband and daughter are wonderful companions, but he and I share a unique connection, united by our love for hilariously terrible disaster flicks and sitcoms featuring overbearing moms who ironically make me seem like a saint.
After years of enduring Barney, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Hey Arnold!, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer—none of which were ever my cup of tea—we finally found common ground. If he wasn’t off with his friends or working, I was more than happy to be his backup plan. But our cozy arrangement was fleeting. He returned home after college just long enough to save up for his own place, as it should be. I knew the moment had come.
We explored several apartments and, on our very first day, stumbled upon the perfect one. A week later, the lease was signed, and suddenly, the reality of him leaving home hit me like a ton of bricks. We took him on the obligatory trips to Ikea and Bed, Bath & Beyond, helping him furnish his new minimalist space. I was excited for him, diving into the preparations with enthusiasm, but I couldn’t shake the sadness.
I had faced “goodbyes” before, though not always with grace. The classic nursery school separation went smoothly, but the send-off for sleepaway camp rocked my world. As we drove away, he and his little sister stood by the roadside, his arm draped around her shoulder, waving goodbye like a scene from a movie. I snapped a mental picture of their solemn faces, looking like lost little souls. I couldn’t stop crying until we hit the highway, while unbeknownst to us, they were back at camp doing the conga.
Then there was the summer program in Ireland. I wasn’t allowed past the security gate at the airport, so I frantically yelled, “Get on the plane with the giant shamrock!” because I had zero confidence that my 16-year-old would make it to the right continent alone.
My cousin, who had just moved her eldest into college, assured me she understood my feelings. I’ll admit, that was tough, but this was different. This marked the moment my son truly became an independent adult, fully supporting himself. It was the end of any “boomeranging”—he was moving out for good.
For over twenty years, my goal had been to raise a self-sufficient adult, yet when the moment arrived, my emotions overwhelmed me. I had grown so fond of this new adult version of him, who can often read my thoughts and knows my quirks and guilty pleasures better than anyone.
He was once that joyful little boy with a perfect bowl haircut and an infectious smile, always chatting up adults and quoting every movie he’d ever seen. As I scanned the shelves in the den, I saw framed memories from nursery school, camp, little league, and high school—all captured moments of his childhood. His college yearbook photo, however, was my favorite. There he was, not stiff and buttoned-up but relaxed, with a warm grin peeking out from beneath his cap and gown.
As we organized his things before his first night in the new apartment, my emotions were teetering on the edge. I tried to stay focused, but he saw right through me and asked if I was okay. My facade crumbled, and a few tears slipped out. He wrapped me in a bear hug, understanding without saying a word.
After setting everything up, I stepped into the hallway. As I turned to head down the stairs, I glanced back at him standing in his new doorway. He waved goodbye, flashing that proud smile of his. I walked to the car, lingering for a few moments, not quite ready to leave. I gazed up at his lit window, finally driving away, fully aware that he was beginning a new chapter of his life without me, and this goodbye was unlike any other.
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In summary, watching my eldest leave home has been a bittersweet experience, blending pride and sadness as he embarks on his new journey. It’s a poignant reminder of how quickly time flies and how important it is to cherish every moment.