The Migration

  What a twisted knot of emotions we go through as we "ready" our children and ourselves for the "college years"!  I know they are ready, they are excited, as am I, to see what the universe holds for them.  Yet, I find myself mourning the loss of our little boys and their dirty hands and loud giggles and pitter-patter of feet.  I know it's their time to "fly" and I want them to, but my heart is heavy.   

  It has begun.  We left with C1 last Thursday to navigate the I-8 through the desert to Phoenix.  It's a "dry" heat, you know, at 106!  We moved things, we ate, we shopped, we built, we cleaned, we barely slept, and we left, feeling like he was ready and excited to begin his new journey.  I have asked the Lord to keep his hand  on his shoulder, that he may feel guidance when he needs it, and maybe even when he thinks he doesn't!  :)  I am grateful he is settled.
  I found myself recalling on the drive home (for gosh sakes we had 6 hours) the moments we shared reading books and tickle times, watching him pull on his rubber boots in Seattle, because the yard was always damp, it seemed.  I remembered the sleeping bag sled he used to "slide" down the stairs, and how handsome he looked in his St. Brendan/Santa Sophia uniforms for school.  I coached him in parochial school, coached with him in parochial school, and his dad and I watched with pride as he swam his way to CIF Finals.  I loved seeing him in his lettermen's jacket on Wednesdays, tie on, because it was "tie day," heading off to Saints.  I loved hearing about his classes and the teachers, who always had a nickname, never their real names.  It is an experience, an all boys' school, rich with laughter, quirkiness, camaraderie, bonding as only "guys" can, and walking away knowing whenever, wherever you see another Saintsman, you have a friend.   
  Flashback to reality, and of course as I walk into the house, I peer into the ravaged room that once held all he was packing and now contains just the remnants of what he decided wasn't worthy of making the trek.  I will try, in the coming months to make "sense" of his room and maybe even "spruce" it up a bit, and I will keep remembering the "moments" because they make me smile and feel warm inside.....  
  This is the beginning of our empty nest.  Thankfully, for my heart, we have one journey left ahead: taking our youngest to his school and settling him in.  I see his room with piles of decisions made and yet to make, bags half packed, and I am thankful, very thankful, I get to see him return to the school he has come to love on the east coast.  There is time for mourning this loss later.  Now, I have to pack.