His mom came to pick him up while he frantically tried to get tasks done that should’ve been done the night before, a night spent being out until the wee hours of the morning, soaking in every last minute possible with friends.

As he was about to leave, I noticed tears start to form in his eyes and then they start for me, in turn. A deep long hug and then he’s off. This’ll be the last time he’ll be in this house.

I descend into his room—a room that looked like a tornado might have rolled through—with piles of clothes, toys, empty cans, and half-empty bags of chips. The tears for me come more quickly and more abundantly. His leaving was predicted and known and yet it feels sudden and emotional.

I have a long road ahead of me: a drive to his school, six hours away, to meet up with him and his mom and get him settled into college. I also have a short road ahead of me: cleaning out his room. It’s the last step to closing this chapter of parenthood and starting a new one. The house, at one time filled with people, is now empty and ready for others to fill it with joy, heartache, and personality.