by Donita Weddle

Created on: August 16, 2008   Last Updated: August 25, 2008

Today my last child left home. It was a long anticipated day for her, and for me. Still, as I had watched her pack up 19 years worth of material possessions in assorted boxes over the past week, it was just a little disconcerting. Mercifully, she did the actual moving out while I was at work. At midday she called, worried about her dad; he had helped her move.

"I think he had tears in his eyes" she said, "but he doesn't know I saw them. Do you think he's okay?"

"I'm sure he's okay" I said. My husband, her father, rarely expressed tears, at least around others, and she knew that. In 21 years I had personally seen him cry only a handful of times.

"But why was he crying?" she countered.

What could I say? That it's hard for parents when their last child moves out, that we want to protect them from all of those disappointments and heartaches they have yet to encounter, that we love them so incredibly much, that letting go isn't easy?

"I'm sure he's fine", I said unconvincingly. "It's hard for parents when their kids move out".

"Don't let him know I noticed" she said.

She called again on my way home from work, asking once again if dad was okay. I had, in fact, called him earlier to let him know I wouldn't be home for lunch, and to ask how things were going, and, truth to told, to check up on him. He had seemed fine to me then. He had been strangely silent about our upcoming empty nest situation, but then, he was the strong and silent type.

"I'm sure he is" I said. "How are you settling in?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

To confess, I, rather shamefully, had been looking forward a bit too much to having an empty nest. It just seemed time. But now I started to have brief, poignant twinges of ...something. So she told me about the move, choking up herself. Maybe it was no easier for her, this child of mine, to be moving out and leaving her parents behind than it was for us to lose her, to say goodbye, as we let her loose on her own to the world.

"I'm going to come over tonight" she said, "and I'll probably call you a lot".

"Okay" I said, and paused. "You'll be okay" I added.

When I got home, I sought out her dad, who was playing a mindless bubble game on the computer. "How'd it go?" I asked. "Fine" he replied, "She got most of her things out but will be back later for the rest". He didn't even make eye contact. Back to the mindless bubble game.

I wandered into her room. Her vibrant pink and green room was now an empty shell except for one box and a wall full of superstar

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