All summer long, I’ve logically prepared for Josh’s move back to Austin. He’s living in an apartment this time, so there were things he’d need, like a TV and a couch. I ordered those things, arranged for delivery. I’ve been buying things along the way, extra toothbrushes, garbage bags, dish towels. I’ve been setting aside things I have too many of: dishes, glasses, a can opener. I have a grocery list for food staples for his pantry.
But a couple of days ago, it hit me. This time he probably won’t come back. He won’t spend a month here at Christmas. May just come down for the day at Thanksgiving. After graduation, he’ll still have 2 1/2 months on his lease, so unless he gets a job here, he won’t be coming home then, either. He’s taking his bed with him, and while we have a twin bed for him to sleep in when he comes home, well, I know that’s not exactly inviting.
My stomach is in knots. I’m always on the verge of tears. I did this before, I know, and actually kind of liked it. There was a definite freedom to not having to work around his schedule, to not have to worry about him being out too late. Fred and I could plan things in advance. This summer has been so nice. He’s worked at his internship full-time, eaten dinner home most nights, only gone out a couple nights a week. It was a very quiet and calm summer. I told my mom it almost makes it worse because I saw him so much more this summer than last, when he was running here and there and working and going to school.
My husband reminds me this is the way it’s supposed to be. And I know it. We were already married at his age. But the thought of him not living here anymore is breaking my heart.