Ever since I had to say goodbye to my husband as he died (a trauma like no other), subsequent goodbyes have been difficult. Over four decades of time, Nate and I stood on front porches or in driveways waving our farewells literally hundreds of times, most always side-by-side. Maybe that’s the reason I struggle now. The goodbyes themselves are intensified because I’m waving solo.

Leaving Birgitta on her university campus was equally as poignant as leaving our first college-age child, but for different reasons. When Nate and I drove Nelson to LeTourneau University in Texas 20 years ago, we and he were two years into a parent-child drama we’d never anticipated. Nelson was acting-out big time, dragging us into the offices of high school deans and the courtrooms of impatient judges.

We’d made the excruciating parental decision not to soften life’s harsh natural consequences for him any longer, and as a result, his offenses multiplied, along with our frustrations.

When he chose a college 1000 miles from home, we agreed it was a good idea. The separation would do us all a world of good. But even though our relationship with Nelson had been a tug-of-war, it was still sad to say goodbye the day we drove away from his campus. I bawled during most of our drive home from Texas.

Now I’ve left our youngest at college, the last time I will participate in this very common and somewhat thorny parent-child ritual. Today it happened under completely different circumstances than with Nelson or even with any of the other kids; Birgitta is the only one who hasn’t had her father cheering her on to this new academic and life challenge. He told each of the others, just before we waved goodbye, “You’re taking the first step onto the bridge between childhood and adulthood.” Birgitta didn’t get to hear him say that to her.

She has worked hard, co-operated with her parents, budgeted her money, kept track of her things and been a good little sister to six siblings. As she begins her residence at the university, it’s a big deal for both of us, the end of life as we’ve known it. But the end of something usually means a new thing is beginning.

Louisa accompanied us on our journey to Iowa today, making our Walmart trip twice the fun it would have been without her. She successfully played the role of cheerleader for her sister and exuded enthusiasm for Birgitta’s choice of school, her dorm, her room and everyone we saw along the way.

This morning before we left the Michigan cottage, the three of us prayed over our day, acknowledging that God had already been to where we were going in order to get everything ready for us. And as Birgitta’s mom, it’s reassuring to know that as we left, he planned to stay. She carries the Lord in her heart, and because of that, he’s promised never to leave her.

And thankfully, because God is God, he went home with me, too.

“Be content with such things as you have, for he himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you’.” (Hebrews 13:5)