You know it has been coming for a year. Yet you never really recognize the day will come. One month. One week. One day. Then she is saying goodbye to the dog and you wait and hear her sniffs that blend with your own. Then you have the drive up to Michigan that is like a family vacation. You want it be that way. You push it from your mind even as you enter the university and make your way to her dorm. Now you are unloading her belongings in the cart. You are the cheery dad doing the physical stuff you do best. Your wife is already arranging her room and you step back and everyone is in their roles one last time.
Then there is a walk around campus. At twilight you look up at her dorm and pick out her window and you know that is where she will look at life now. That window is her new home and you will not be there with her. But there is still time. There is the dinner where the seafood is not quite up to Chicago standards. You joke around with her as you always do and then in the hotel room you watch Ace Ventura and you both laugh laying together on the bed. You always had the same quirky sense of humor.
But now it is morning. You go do down and try and eat something but your appetite is gone. A trip to the Walmart for last minute items. You see other parents looking like zombies with their kids. No one wants to go to this final wake for parenthood. But then you go back to the dorm and unload the bags and now...now there is nothing left to do or say. You cannot talk and hide behind your sunglasses. She hugs your wife and then she hugs you twice. And you murmur I love you. Something you never said enough. And now you are walking down the hallway. If you can just make it to the stairs you will be good.
And then you do and you walk to the car that is now minus one person. And you start the engine and pull out and you leave your daughter behind. And now you just cry and cry because your heart is broken and there is nothing you can do. Your daughter has just left for college.
Then there is a walk around campus. At twilight you look up at her dorm and pick out her window and you know that is where she will look at life now. That window is her new home and you will not be there with her. But there is still time. There is the dinner where the seafood is not quite up to Chicago standards. You joke around with her as you always do and then in the hotel room you watch Ace Ventura and you both laugh laying together on the bed. You always had the same quirky sense of humor.
But now it is morning. You go do down and try and eat something but your appetite is gone. A trip to the Walmart for last minute items. You see other parents looking like zombies with their kids. No one wants to go to this final wake for parenthood. But then you go back to the dorm and unload the bags and now...now there is nothing left to do or say. You cannot talk and hide behind your sunglasses. She hugs your wife and then she hugs you twice. And you murmur I love you. Something you never said enough. And now you are walking down the hallway. If you can just make it to the stairs you will be good.
And then you do and you walk to the car that is now minus one person. And you start the engine and pull out and you leave your daughter behind. And now you just cry and cry because your heart is broken and there is nothing you can do. Your daughter has just left for college.
