We live in a world that tells how to prepare appropriately for everything. How to get the best job, marry the best man, have the best pregnancy/birth/nursery. How to raise the best toddler, who will become the best child, who will then become the best man/woman who is then expected to figure out how to repeat the cycle.

No one really prepares us for the part where we, the best parent, must let go of the best child to go off to what we hope is the best college or university. There are lists to prepare and check off and websites to order from so we can create their perfect home away from home. They tell you how to make a dorm bed comfortable and how to fold a towel so it fits in a small space. Multiple storage options make it possible to have everything that they need tucked neatly away.

I wonder if all of these “preparations” are put into place, so you don’t spend the time between high school graduation and college drop off day lamenting about the inevitable.

The summer was so busy with “lasts” that I didn’t have time to think about what saying goodbye would really be like. And I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be.

The adrenaline of finding the perfect duvet and towels and rug was more about filling the void that was inevitably looming rather than creating the perfect dorm room for a 19 year old boy. Who, in reality, could care less.

Of course, he wanted it to be nice but did he really care about stripe vs solid? I think not.

It was me preparing to let him go and trying to still hold on.

He cared nothing about the strip plug or the shower shoes. I came home with hand towels he swore he did not need. The storage cube that doubled as a bench was pushed under his bed filled with God only knows. The room we arranged was rearranged after parent orientation.

But he was patient when he would usually be annoyed. He let me make his bed and arrange his pictures. He let me hang his flags and when they fell off the wall (because the command strips did not work, which is another piece entirely) he helped me put them back up. And He helped me break the rules and nail them into the molding.

It was a really good day. A day that filled my heart because, just like all of his milestones, I was present for one of the most important. The day that I let him go.

We prepare for this day our entire lives. All of the 3am feedings and diaper changes and tantrums lead to this. The 103 degree temps and tummy bugs where they just don’t make it to the toilet. The scraped knees and band aids, the casts and stiches. Sticky hands and ice cream kisses. White jeans with ketchup fingerprints. 5am wake up cries and 8pm bedtime fights.

Which, in a blink of an eye turn into quieter houses with quieter mornings where you are yelling for them to wake up (never would I have ever thought I would do that). Late nights when your anger over a missed curfew is combined with your prayers that God brings them home safely.

It is true that you blink and wonder where did the time go. And you start to wish you listened to the sweet little old lady in Target who said that they days are long but the years are short as you wrestled your toddler in the big red cart and hoped that your newborn could last a few more moments before going into full on melt down mode.

Now, I find myself alone in those lines with the same cart that held my crying newborn, wiggly toddler and was followed behind by an annoyed kindergartner. Sometimes I find myself (by sheer muscle memory) rocking back and forth as if I can sooth the screaming infant in front of me through osmosis. And I sometimes scold myself for wishing for a moment to myself. But it’s all relative, I guess.

So now I have entered this new phase of life, the learning to let go part. I never in a million years thought I would be here but time has a funny way of tricking you into thinking you have a lot of it.