I keep thinking of my son-in-law's family.
As he and a friend drive his rented Penske truck to South Carolina, his sister hopes he can make it to Atlanta in time to spend the night. His mom is at Target buying contact solution because he's running low. His friends watch his Instagram posts and leave comments, "We can't wait until you're here."
He is returning home after 13 years on the west coast, after earning a doctorate, after falling in love and marrying, after welcoming a son into their family.
After 32 years of our daughter living within an hour of our reach, we are saying good-bye to her childhood, her school years, her first job, her marriage, first child; we are saying good-bye to her family.
When there's a drought, people pray for rain; in the same town, an outdoor wedding awaits for the weekend, and that family is praying it won't rain.
Our family loss is another family's gain.
I keep thinking of their excitement. Of our son-in-law's parents clearing out two guest bedrooms until my daughter and her husband find a house of their own. I imagine the truck pulling into the driveway his parents running to greet him. I imagine the flight my daughter and I will take to bring her to a new home where she will become a southerner. I think of her in-laws who've yet to meet their grandson.
They will be saying hello and I will be saying good-bye.
Our son-in-law promises they will buy a house with an extra bedroom just for us. Bikes in their garage just for us. Month-long invites, and if they ever build--a house in the backyard for us.
It's left a bruise on my heart that won't heal, but I try to assure him it's going to be just fine. We knew this day was coming and he's worrying more than he needs to.
The only relief to losing our daughter's family is to think of her new family in South Carolina. To think of their excitement, their joy. To let their joy become mine.
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