“That’s the last box.” I smooth the comforter on her bed with my hand. It’s black and white striped, so different from her bedroom at home. It makes me think of all the comforters she’s had since she was a little girl. Pink ribbons, butterflies, fuchsia, and the Little Mermaid were all unalike what she chose for her room now.

When did pink become not grown up enough? Or have I just lived in denial for so long, not wanting to acknowledge that we’ve finally reached that point. My little girl is now an adult.

Tears sting my eyes as I get up to give her a hug at the door after my husband is done. Gone are the nights where we watch crime shows before bed. No more pedicure trips on weekends or shopping trips to antique stores. It will be weeks before I see her again.

“Oh mom.” She chokes up before she can say more. I try to open my eyes, but the tears don’t allow me to see anything, so I close them and hold her tighter.

There have been times we got into screaming matches. She was always a passionate person. Her heart is so big.

There isn’t enough time to say everything I want to. “I’m so proud of you. Please remember to be safe, but don’t forget to have fun.” I manage to get out.

And then the hug is done, and it’s time to go. My husband grabs my hand and pulls me out the door. He thinks he’s the strong one, and I’ll let him think that. I won’t mention the tears I’ll see on the drive home.

It’s not until the door is shut and we are in the car that I let out a sob. My chest feels hollow. When my phone rings, I smile for the first time all day.

“I miss you guys already.” She says on the phone.