A-mom drove to Reno, following me over the mountains as I was about to start college. Boxes had been carried, small talk finished, and it was time for her to head home alone. It was my first time living away from home, and she was predictably emotional. She was not ready for me to leave home, and I’m sure there were some leftover feelings of abandonment, the jealousy of one survivor over the other’s departure. Maybe some of the tears were brought on by my lack of reaction. I had prepared myself for this, rehearsing how to respond and reduce the amount of histrionics to a minimum. More than that, I had prepared myself to not feel the same sense of separation. I blocked those feelings out, forcing myself to move onward despite any silly emotions I may have had about leaving home. When it was time to say good-byes in the parking lot of Nye Hall, A-mom struggled to accept the new state of things, but I had already neatly wrapped up those feelings and packed them in the mental attic.
In my mind, I had already said goodbye to her, to home, to a chapter of life. Little did I know that this next chapter would be eventful but short, and I would be returning home sooner than expected.