Ever since we dropped our daughter off to college last week in Texas, people have treated me differently.
At every turn, they check my mental pulse, ask me how I’m feeling. Some offer encouraging words of advice or a consoling pat on the back . Others recoil in horror at the prospect of my situation someday becoming theirs.
It’s as if I have stage 4 lymphoma.
To all those concerned, I would like to say something: Chill.
I’m doing great. The missus is fine. The cat is still napping.
For 20 some years, you pour your whole being into your kids. Friday night football, marching band Super Regionals, a Tournament of Roses parade, teacher conflicts, state and national vocal concerts, awards assemblies, prom dresses, senior pictures, disappointment, tears, elation, celebrations, graduations.
And then in what seems like an instant, they are gone. But they aren’t really.
Yes, the house may be quieter and rooms cleaner. But you never stop being their parents and they never stop being your kids.
You have put in the work. It’s time to sit back and admire it.