Well, the day finally came. My little brother, not so little anymore I guess, packed his bags for college. It feels like just yesterday we were building forts in the living room, now he’s off on his own adventure. The whole process, getting him ready, it was… something. A real mix of practical stuff and a whole lot of feelings.
Getting Ready – The Chaos Phase
Man, the weeks leading up were pure chaos. Felt like we were prepping for a major expedition, not just a move to a dorm room a few hours away. My main role, besides being the ‘experienced’ older sibling (ha!), was trying to keep things somewhat organized. We started with the big purge. Going through years of accumulated stuff in his room – old posters, broken gadgets, clothes he hadn’t worn since middle school. Deciding what was essential and what was junk was tougher than you’d think.
Then came the packing. My approach was methodical, or I tried to be:
- Clothes first: Folded versus rolled? We tried both. Ended up just stuffing most of it into bags.
- Essentials: Toiletries, bedding, towels. We made a list, checked it twice, still forgot toothpaste.
- School stuff: Laptop, notebooks, pens. The easy part, surprisingly.
- ‘Comforts of home’: A few photos, his favorite stupid mug, the worn-out blanket he refuses to get rid of.
Shopping trips were involved, naturally. Last minute runs for things like command strips, a desk lamp, extra-long charging cables (dorm room essential, trust me). It felt never-ending. Mom was emotional, Dad was trying to be stoic and practical, giving unsolicited advice about laundry and budgeting. And my brother? He was a weird mix of excited and totally freaked out, trying hard not to show the freaked-out part.
The Drive and The Drop-Off
D-day arrived. Loading the car was like playing Tetris with luggage. We somehow crammed it all in. The drive was quieter than I expected. Some forced jokes, some music, long stretches of silence. You could feel the anticipation, the nervousness. It wasn’t sad yet, just… heavy.
Arriving on campus was a whole scene. Hundreds of cars, stressed parents, excited freshmen. We found his dorm, hauled everything up three flights of stairs (no elevator, classic), and then started the setup. Making the bed, arranging the tiny desk space, figuring out where the heck everything would fit in a room the size of a closet. It’s a strange intimacy, setting up a life space for someone who’s about to live without you.
The Actual Goodbye
And then, it was time. We’d done all we could. The room looked lived-in, sort of. Hugs were exchanged. Mom cried, obviously. Dad gave a firm handshake and a gruff “Be good.” My turn. It was awkward. What do you say? “Good luck”? “Don’t do anything stupid”? I think I mumbled something like “Call us,” and gave him a quick hug. He just nodded, trying to look cool for his new roommate who was pretending not to watch.
Walking away from that dorm building felt weird. Really weird. The car ride home was even quieter. It’s done. He’s launched. It’s good, it’s right, but man, the house feels a bit bigger now, a bit emptier. Just part of life, I suppose. You get them ready, you help them pack, and then you let them go. Wild.
