We’re in Memphis. The goal was Nashville, but we didn’t leave the house until after noon yesterday. No one was in a hurry. We were all avoiding the inevitable.
We’re on the roadtrip, a rental van packed to the gils, to take Maly to Charleston West Virginia to start college. Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia. School starts on August 19th. Our plan was always to leave on August 13th. I’ve been dreading August 13th as much as my own death. Two days to make the drive. We’d arrive on Wednesday. We’d have Thursday to ourselves to do whatever we wanted to do. Probably shop for things Maly might need or want for school. Friday is the day we move her into her dorm room.
Our flight home is very early on Sunday morning. She begins her college career at 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning. We’ll hug and kiss her and wish her all the best on Saturday night. It’s a parent’s nightmare that I guess had always been a dark spot in my brain since I became a parent, but never formulated a plan of how I would deal with it. I still don’t have a plan. I know there will be tears. A lot of them. There have already been a lot of them. There are right now as I write this.
We were rushed but in no hurry Tuesday morning. Maly’s friends Hanna and Lydia came over early Tuesday to say their goodbyes. Hanna came over to say goodbye again. I’d gone for a run early. I had my share moments getting choked up. I kept running. It kept my mind on task. I got home and decided to water the lawn one last time before we’d be gone for a week. I was drenched in sweat and figured I’d take care of the yard before getting showered and cleaned up to start our road trip. I remember the flood of thoughts. The one that made 80 million daggers drive through my heart was this was the last morning my baby is going to wake up in her bed in this house. In the room that’s been hers since we brought her home from the hospital 6,573 days ago. I threw the water house down and the tears and ugly cried ensued. I quietly stormed into the house at 7 a.m. and went straight to Maly’s room. I silently pushed open her door, leaned against her closet wall and watched her sleep. Like I’d done a thousand times before, especially when she was a baby.
The memories flooded.
It was a tough morning. We were all up and about, going about our separate agendas to get ready. Elise was packing her things, Maly’s college things, and handling the logistics of our friend taking care of our animals, and pretty much all of the other home and family things. I cleaned. And hid and cried between my self-assigned cleaning duties.
I spent some time lying in bed with her and we talked. I recounted the stories of when she learned to ride a scooter. And how we used to go get the mail together every day. When she learned to ride her bike. All the miles we put on the sidewalk racing Plasma Cars down our street. I rendered advice on staying on top of her responsibilities as school. Chipping away and not letting things pile up or getting behind. And making sure she talked to her professors. All things she already knows and has been successful in doing. As I think back on it now, I wasn’t really giving her advice, but admiring and acknowledging how well she’s done in her young adult life already. Reminding her that she’s on the right path.
I measured her one last time in the garage. The same spot on the piece of baseboard that I screwed into the garage wall when she was 3-years-old. Back and heels against the the board. I drew the line. She and I looked at it and she found it baffling how much she’d grown since she started middle school. I put my hand with the pencil in it on top of her head and marked the spot. I used the t-square to draw the straight line. The same way I’ve done it for 15 years. I marked it with “8/13/24.” This day I’ve been dreading.
The inevitable finally came around noon and we found ourselves taking the last of the things that were coming with us out to the rental van that was parked facing the street on our driveway. I stood in the dining room and watched as Maly said goodbye to Blue in the office. That’s when I saw and heard that she was crying. It was hard. So damn hard. That scene is etched into my mind now. Selfishly I’m happy that I have that memory etched into my mind. It’s from a scene in the office where I spend most of my daylight hours during the work week. Right behind my office chair, and right where Blue rests where she spends most of her daylight hours during the work week.
The first day of the road trip was relatively uneventful. I-35 to south of Dallas. 20 up to 30, over Lake Ray Hubbard and east onward through Sulphur Springs, Mt. Pleasant, and then Texarkana. All of 30 through Arkansas was mostly a blur other than the semis and change in landscape. The tall pine trees. I love the tall pine trees.
We stopped in Little Rock for dinner at Flyway Brewing. We shared two baked pretzels, the Flyway pickle plate, and gumbo cheese fries. Elise had a beer. The girls and I had the root beer that they make in-house.
Two more hours on the road and we made it into Memphis. We checked in to the Country Inn & Suites and it reminded me of all of the hotels at which we’d stay for lacrosse tournaments. More memories. Things of the past that I probably should’ve reveled more in when they were happening.
The memory that I’ll always cherish though, and I’m so glad I put my book down and reveled in this one. Elise and me in our bed. The girls in theirs next to us. Elise had the TV off and told the girls put their phones away. Mara turned on her phone’s flashlight and started making shadow puppets on the ceiling. I turned on my watch’s flashlight and joined in the shadow puppet show. We were horrible with our shadow puppets, but we all took our turns.
Our shadow puppet show probably lasted only 15 minutes, but those were 15 damn good minutes. To have all of us be together. To hear all of my girls laughing. As much as my heart is breaking, my heart is so full.
