This is What Leaving Looks Like

A couple of nights ago, I brought the dog out front to pee. As I turned around to head back inside, I stopped on the sidewalk to take in how everything looked and felt. It was twilight, my favorite time of the day, and it felt like magic. The darkening sky illuminated the house. Lily’s bedroom light was on, and I blinked repeatedly to stop the tears from running down my cheeks. She was upstairs packing up her room for a new adventure out west. This would be the last night I would look up and see her bedroom light on for a while. 

This is what leaving looks like. 

The days during the week went by too fast. I knew they would. I squeezed myself into her busy days the best that I could. Impromptu dinners, drives to do errands, and helping attach and pack a roof carrier to her car so she would have space in the back seat for the dog and kitten. 

This is what leaving looks like. 

Yesterday, her dad and I stood in the driveway with heavy hearts and watched her drive away. This feels different than dropping her off at college. This marks the beginning of her new life on the other side of the country. This is grown-up stuff. I’m sure she’ll move around a bit more; maybe she’ll even come closer to home again one day. This shift in who we are at these points in our lives feels significant. 

This is what leaving feels like. 

I’m not quite sure what to do with myself today. I periodically check the little dot that is her car on my phone and see her slowly moving across the states. I take a breath, overwhelmed by everything I am feeling. It’s not just the heaviness of missing someone I love; it’s all the things. It’s all so bittersweet and mixed with gratefulness that my beautiful, healthy, smart, and capable daughter is finding her way in this messy world. It warms my heart that we can argue and laugh and have different opinions and still deeply love each other. I’m thankful her sweet but weird dog isn’t making a nest and flattening my couch pillows by lying on top of them this morning. He’s such a needy dog, but so incredibly sweet with the softest ears. I know I’ll miss him too, eventually. As I sit here finishing my writing, the house is too quiet. Too tidy. Too empty. I hear the hum of the fan, the birds, and cars passing by. 

This is what leaving sounds like as a new chapter begins.