I’ve been moving my son in and out of college dorms since 2017.
It’s hot, hard, dirty work.
But I’ve been up for it. I’ve actually become quite good at it.
This college move-out, however, has been the hardest one of all.
And it’s not because there was still a lot left to do when my husband and I arrived to pick our son up from his apartment. (There was). And it’s not because the bags and boxes seemed particularly heavy this time. (They did).
It’s because this is my son’s last college move-out.
This time his bags and boxes won’t be sitting in my basement and den and front hall for the entire summer, waiting to be loaded back into the SUV come August.
This time his bags and boxes will come home for just a short while, until a moving truck comes to take them away. Take them away to my son’s new home across the country, thousands of miles away from us.
And now I’m realizing I should have enjoyed those college move-outs a little more.
Even though they were exhausting, sweaty ordeals.
I should have savored the moments. I should have relished the time together.
The times when I knew my son and his stuff would be home for a long summer break. The times when I knew that the next college move-in would be followed by parents’ weekend and fall break and Thanksgiving and winter break and spring break. And then another summer move-out that would bring him and his bags and boxes back home to me.
Now there are no more bags and boxes for me to move.
And I will miss this time.
But I also know for sure my son is ready to do the heavy lifting on his own now.