Texas.
He never said anything about Texas. I would remember that.
When our youngest son was in fifth grade he informed me that he wouldn’t live in Spokane forever.
“I’m going to live in Seattle, Los Angeles and New York,” he said.
Last week, Sam, 22, moved to Odessa, Texas. He accepted a full-time position at Odessa College to teach English and composition classes. Odessa is 1,767 miles from Spokane.
I would have much preferred he stuck with his fifth-grade plan and moved to Seattle, but Sam has worked hard to become a college professor and his first post-graduate school job is exactly what he envisioned during his long hours of study. It’s just that none of us envisioned it in Texas.
I’m getting a bit of an attitude about that state. Our second son moved to Houston at 21, stayed almost three years, and then moved to Ohio. Thankfully, our other two sons don’t seem inclined to move to the Lone Star State and both have places within a mile of our house.
Of course, I knew this day was coming – eventually, all parents get to enjoy an empty nest. But neither Derek nor I were prepared for how rapidly this last fledgling flew.
Last month, after two Zoom interviews, Sam went to Odessa for an in-person interview and was offered the job immediately. He found an apartment, flew back home and started packing.
He had a lot to pack – mainly books. (Seven boxes full and he left an overflowing bookshelf in his room.)
We shopped and scheduled last-minute dental and eye exams. In hindsight, we should have skipped those because his extensive benefits include 100% health care coverage.
His dad slaved over the aging Oldsmobile that Sam inherited when I got my Ford Escape. Derek needed to ensure it could make the trip across six states, towing a small U-Haul trailer. Then he excitedly mapped out the route he and Sam would take.
We hosted a big family bon voyage party filled with cousins, aunts and uncles, and suddenly we were in our week of lasts.
His last Friday family dinner with his brothers.
Last visit with his Grandma Shirley, 91.
Last back-to-school s’mores night in our backyard gazebo.
Last night in his childhood bed.
Last cuddles with our cats, Thor and Walter. (Well, last cuddle with Walter because Thor ran and hid. Thor hates goodbyes.)
I wasn’t the only one shedding tears.
For 32 years, we’ve had at least one son in our home.
“I’m going to miss having another dude around,” Derek said.
Apparently, our male cats don’t count.
Those lasts aren’t exactly final. Sam will come home for Christmas, and he’s going to meet us in Ohio this summer to visit Alex’s family with us.
But I’ve been through this three times before. Once a kid has a taste of independent living, they don’t want to live in Mom and Dad’s basement anymore. That’s a very healthy thing.
After raising boys for 32 years, Derek and I are ready for the next chapter of our story to unfold. Friends who’ve walked this path before us have all said the same thing.
“You’ll be sad for a few days, and then (here they all grinned) you will love having an empty nest!”
They’re probably right, plus I have something else that comforts me.
All those years ago, when Sam mapped out his life’s plan for me, he was adamant about one thing.
“When I’m done traveling around, and I’m ready to settle down, I’m coming home to Spokane,” he said. “That’s where I want to raise my family.”
I’m counting on it, Sam. I’m counting on it.
Cindy Hval 