My son is in his last week of school, not just for the year, but forever. He’s about to do his final exams and he plans to go to university in the fall at Memorial University back in Newfoundland. In the last three years, since grade 10, he’s really turned it on with regards to his school work. He does his homework without my help or my wife’s nagging rightful prompting. He takes time to study and pays attention in class. His grades in high school have gotten better every year and they are running about 15% higher than when he was in middle school. I think he’s well prepared for the work required from university and has a good head on his shoulders. He’s a good kid and we have a lot to be proud of, but he’s leaving us soon. He’s entering his final summer holidays of adolescence and will be off to university in the fall.

My wife has been in Newfoundland visiting family since last week. My almost-18 son has his own social life and has spent a good portion of his time out with friends, leaving me with nobody but the dog. Aaawwwwweee. I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m just saying I’ve had a lot of quiet time to think. I always thought that as our son grew into a man and left the house to start his own life I’d simply turn a page in my life and start the next chapter. I thought that we’d miss him if he went to another town for university (thank GOD he’s planning to do university) or if he moved out on his own, but we’d go with the flow and enjoy the next phase of our life with lower grocery bills and less laundry.

But as the date gets closer and he hits more milestones spelling out in flashing neon the inevitable day that he moves out my anxiety levels increase. Just like my 40th birthday a couple of years ago, what I thought would be a simple life gate I would walk through is setting up to be a mental and emotional boot camp obstacle course run by some sick drill sergeant yelling obscenities at me. I know it won’t kill me, but it doesn’t calm the feelings of dreadful melancholy that haunt me when I think about it.

We’ve always joked that when he’s 18 he’s outta here, but that always seemed so far away. Somehow, I think I’m gonna hate the sight of that empty laundry basket…