It’s the shampoo.

Two days ago, Kate moved out to a nice little apartment in the city, with two great roommates.  Close to the T, surrounded by wonderful little restaurants, bars, bookstores, funky shops.  Near her friends.  I am so excited for her!

It was time for her to be on her own again. Past time, probably.  She just spent four months living with us.  She and I recently spent a whole week together on the beach.  Heck, we work in the same school!  It’s not like we are going to lose our closeness. It’s not like she’s going so far away.

I’m fine. Really!  I didn’t help her to pack or get organized.  I wasn’t even here when she left with her brother and a big UHaul truck.  I am fine with this step in both of our lives. Of course I am.

I came home from my class the day that she moved out. I was actually quite happy to see the large space in the garage where all of her belongings had been stored for the past 16 weeks.  I came upstairs, and smiled as I looked into her nicely clean room, devoid of cat litter, stacked books, rumpled laundry and discarded mail.  It was nice!

I opened kitchen cabinets and was pleased to see the empty drawer where all of her tea used to live.  And the shelf space now that her seaweed and her dried beans and her jars of anchovies were gone.  It was nice to see so much new storage!

That night was fine.  Kate has been in and out for months now, traveling the world, visiting friends, moving away and back again. I was used to her absence and I was, truly, happy that she had taken the next step into her adult life.  She is so smart and strong and full of life!  I want her to be out there enjoying it all. I do!   I went to bed feeling calm and content.  For the first time in 25 and a half years, one of my kids moved away from me, and I didn’t cry.

The next morning, I got up and headed for the shower.  I grabbed a towel, slid open the shower curtain as the water flowed down, and stopped dead in my tracks.  All of her bottles of shower gel, soap, conditioner and shave cream were gone.  All that was left was one tall, bright purple bottle of shampoo, complete with pump.

I stepped into the stall, turned my face into the hot spray, and cried and cried and cried.

One thought on “It’s the shampoo.

  1. The end of an era … almost a death, of sorts. But be patient — soon to come is a whole new chapter with all new experiences and opportunities to make new memories. I’m always amazed, though, how a benign, lifeless “thing” can evoke such emotion! Who knew – shampoo! I feel you!


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