I have a few minutes on this Sunday morning to answer one of the Scintilla bonus prompts this weekend, so here goes:
Talk about a time when you left home.
I moved out of my parents' house when I was 23. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I was on the older end to do this, especially, save for one semester away at college, I commuted to school (my university was only a half hour from our house; since I paid for college myself, it made no sense that I lived there. This is a regret, by the way.)
I was SO READY to move out. I finally had a real, full-time job as a reporter at a newspaper, I had saved up my money, and found a perfect roommate in my friend Chris. He and I had worked together a year prior, when we were both full-timers at Barnes and Noble. (As much as I loved working there, I was in no way making enough money to live on my own. So it was a brief, nine-month stop on my way to bigger things - but hey, they offered health insurance.)
Chris and I had found an awesome apartment about 30 minutes from where my parents lived, and we planned and schemed and purchased things and finally it was move-in day. I was beside myself. I had taken a full month to clean, purge and pack my childhood room, my sanctuary for the first 23 years of my life. It was time.
My herd of friends who were helping me move were outside, their cars packed with my stuff, ready to make the trek over to the new place, help me unpack, and if I recall correctly, drink. I was carrying my final box out the door and went to say goodbye to my parents. Well. My mother was crying. Hard. I couldn't believe it! It was so heartbreaking. Of COURSE I was beyond ready to move out, and I'm QUITE sure my parents were ready too. It's hard, living as a full-grown adult with your parents, especially when yours are as old-school as mine were.
But in that moment of leaving, my mom was crying, my father was saying incredibly, unnervingly nice things to me, and....it was hard, y'all. It was a moment I really didn't understand at the time. This was not how we were as a family. The word "demonstrative" never described us.
Now, of course, I completely understand. The idea of Jane leaving us breaks my heart daily, because, while she's only 4 1/2, as everyone tells me, the years blast by and before I know it, she'll be heading out the door, last box in hand, her life ahead of her.
And, let's face it - I'll be bawling too.