The first time son moved out, he was 19 years old and clueless what it took to live on your own. He lasted 3 months and moved back in with us.
The second time he moved out, it lasted just about a year. He was a few years older and they could have, should have made it work, but they didn't, and in retrospect I'm glad they didn't.
So when he told us about 6 weeks ago his plan to move out by the end of October I wasn't sure it would all come together.
But it did. They packed up the truck Friday, Halloween, hit the road Saturday morning, got settled in a bit to their new place over this past weekend.
He got a job where they are moving.
She can transfer her job where they are moving.
For privacy sake, I won't say where they are moving, but it is within a day's drive of where we live.
Though likely we won't go and visit them unless we board Koda.
And we have mixed feelings about that.
Although he loves his car rides, he does fidget and I think this would be longer than he would like.
The first time son left, I cried for days.
The second time, just a few tears shed.
This time, a little more than a few tears shed, but they were mainly happy tears if one care shed happy tears, and I think one can.
Its a good move. It doesn't seem like it should be a good move, but I think it is. A few months ago I told him "I think you are on a brink of something really good, I don't know what it is, but it is good." And then it happened.
I will miss him.
Yet it is good.
It is what our jobs are that we do.
Prepare them to leave.
He came back twice.
I don't think he'll come back this time.
And that's okay.
I just have to learn how to cook again for two.
And that is okay too.
Lord, please watch over him.
You always have, you always will.
That's good enough for me.
And so he moved.
Changing of location.
Cliff hanger revealed.
Yet who knows, maybe there's another move in store.