Our oldest son, Scott (21), is moving in to his first apartment this weekend. He has been working at a new job in Indianapolis for about several weeks, but he didn’t want to sign a lease for a new apartment until he was sure things were going to work out with the job. (Smart kid!)
Now it was a kind of shock to my system when he went away to college, not having him here and all, but at least I knew that he would be coming home periodically. The key word in that sentence is home. This was still his home, his “permanent address” on all his records. This was where most of his stuff was, and where he came when he left school.
That’s not going to be the case anymore.
“Home” will now be a one-bedroom apartment in Indy with a balcony, washer/dryer, fitness center, and pool. His bedroom is full of boxes and suitcases containing all the stuff he’s taking with him, and the room already has an empty feel to it. I’ve been working down in our basement the last few days, trying to clean it out of the unnecessary things that have accumulated while pulling together things Scott wants to take with him. I vividly remember our first apartment, filled with items we scrounged from family members’ basements and our own bedrooms. We didn’t care. It was our first place together and we loved it.
This is a rite of passage for Scott, moving into his own place. And, as has been done for eons, family and friends will be helping him move. We pick up the rental truck on Friday, load it up, and drive down on Saturday to unload. How am I going to handle this big day for Scott? Time will tell. We’re so proud of him and are happy that he is doing so well in this next stage of his life. But it’ll be hard to know this isn’t “home” any more for him.
Well, maybe this will always be home. I hope so!