Leaving your TCKs behind to return to life in your host country is NOT easy. This time, we left two, and it was not any easier. When two of the four most precious beings are no longer close by, the desire to buy a house and settle in a place you’ve never been to grows pretty strong.

That morning, I woke to a heavy chest and a lump in my throat. I quietly made coffee and let the tears roll down onto my journal. By the time everyone woke, my eyes were red but dry. We kept busy packing and loading the car.

The first drop-off was the oldest to his new apartment. We met one of his roommates – a fellow TCK. What a gift.

Lunch. I looked at the menu, but nothing sounded good. Who wants to eat when they are full from a plate stacked with grief? We moved the food around our plates, taking bites here and there. My husband tried to lighten the mood with “dad jokes” and asking questions about what the kids have planned for the week.

Everything felt flat. It was that in-between time when it was almost time to drive away. The goodbyes are hidden. Stuffed and buried. The heart aches as time pushes those goodbyes to the surface. I really do not like this space of time.

But it is always better to go through grief. And this is the first step towards letting go.

In the parking lot of his apartment, the tears flow. I know it’s good, but man is it hard. “See you in a year” feels like a lifetime.

And then, we drove our youngest to her new place of residence.

She gets a phone call. She’s been called for an interview for a job. Finally.

Then, we see a large bird on the road. It’s a vulture.

A vulture in the middle of a large city?

We passed slowly to see not one but probably ten to fifteen vultures in a yard. And we smelled that pungent smell of decay.

A car horn blared.

We realized we were mesmerized by this sight and had basically stopped in the road. We moved forward and began laughing.

A few minutes later, we were in the driveway. Quiet. None of us wanted to make the first move.

But the clock kept moving forward, and we had a very long drive ahead of us. We got out of the car.

By this time, our middle daughter with special needs had caught up with what was happening. She began to tear up. Grief wrapped its arms around her tiny frame, and without reserve, she sobbed. The chest heaving kind with wails.

But she demonstrated what we felt.

As we entered the freeway, the distance between us and the kids got farther, and my chest heaved. The dam broke. The tears flowed. My husband reached over and held my hand. My middle child rubbed my shoulder.

This goodbye felt like a death. While it is a “death” of their childhood as they are becoming adults, it also feels like it will be forever before we see them again.

And in the moment of my grief, I was thankful that I was not part of a family of vultures.

If you are a parent who has said goodbye to your college kids this year. Check out this resource that I created for those who stay. DOCK: a resource for the Stayers