So my youngest son went off to university on Sunday. The 'moving in' experience wasn't as lengthy a process as it had been, when my middle son started, some years ago. We simply parked up, collected the key to the room and found our own way.
We sorted out the room, had a nice meal in a nearby restaurant, and finally left our youngest son outside his new room, chatting with his fellow students.
I shed a few tears on the way home in the car, under cover of the darkness, and our youngest son texted us later in the evening to say that he was having an 'amazin' time.
For everyone else life seems to carry on as normal. I try not to feel devastated, but I do. I am constantly reminded that he is missing.
When I awake, he is not in his bed. When I prepare my breakfast cereal, we have too much milk in the 'fridge. I shop in the supermarket for 3, instead of 4. I arrive home, and the house is empty. I drink my cup of tea alone. There is not enough washing for a proper load.
His pre-student paraphernalia litters every surface, but for some reason, it is when I see his name printed at the top of his latest bank statement, that I finally break down and weep.
Today my husband is manning a stand, at an exhibition, in a town nearby to where my son is staying, so he is visiting him. He is taking an aerial for student son's television set, and the 2 large cushions I have bought to make his room more comfortable. My husband will see our youngest son this afternoon. I will not.
As my husband leaves for the exhibition, this morning, I unexpectedly shed a few tears. "Why are you crying?" he asks.
A good bit of gossip
13 hours ago