So Long draft one

My older son is moving out, at least in theory. His job is waiting for him, and he starts next Monday. I’m sure he will do well in his position, but I wonder if he will be living in a motel room.

He found townhouse-type place, with a garage topped by two stories. He lacks a move-in date. He heard from the realtors last week; they wanted to speak to his previous landlords, a.k.a his parents. He gave them our phone numbers, but they haven’t called us, nor has he called them.

Then there’s Human Resources at his new job. Like the realtors, they called him last week, but didn’t have the results from the drug tests. He hasn’t contacted them since then, so we are in the dark.

One thing I do know—he hasn’t rented a trailer. The rental company is overwhelmed with trailers, and getting one will be easy. He hasn’t ordered one yet, and I doubt he will anytime soon.

He disassembled his weight bench this afternoon. That and other related paraphernalia is spread out on the downstairs carpet. This evening, he ordered a new washer and dryer from Home Depot.
He needed to do those things, yes, but they aren’t critical.

My son is sick, hacking and headachy, and I sympathize. There’s no doubt he wants to recover, but he can still get in touch with the people who haven’t called back. Moving is unpleasant at best, and operates on Murphy’s Law: whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. He’s moving a 2.5 hour distance from here, and has us to help him. Besides the rain getting dumped on us by Hurricane Ian, the move is uncomplicated.

My husband’s letting our son take the lead. I had a little trouble with that, but soon joined him. He’s twenty-five, and if he falls on his face, so be it. His failure to make phone calls and look at the calendar are not my responsibility. A week ago, I was pondering how strange it will be to have him gone. Today I want him to grow up and move out.

Perhaps that’s better.

The path between helping and being overbearing is one I’ve spent years navigating. My success rate has fluctuated, but I’m done pushing my firstborn. This time, whether we remember it as a success or a disaster, this move is his to manage, and I’m okay with that.