And that's okay, I knew we would be just fine. It would just be for the summer, and so I wanted to make the most of having him home.
I grew used to seeing him in the kitchen in the mornings, brewing up something good for breakfast. Just knowing he was there, at home, each day, was comforting. Plus, he helped me out, doing work around the house that saved me time.
As the end of summer approached, I had to brace myself for him leaving again.
"It's good he's going back", I would tell myself. "I'll miss him, but it's where he should be".
But as the day of his departure got closer and closer, I felt myself becoming more uncomfortable at the thought of watching him go. What had started out as encroachment into "my space" had become the filling of a void I didn't know existed. I really, really didn't want him to go back.
I told myself, it was my duty as a mother to let him go. We intended for him to be at college from the start, and that's where he would be.
And then I said, "screw it already, I'm getting another one for home".