Without fanfare, we start the rest of our lives

So the nest is empty.

We moved the younger of our two daughters to Iowa State University. Yep, our Hawkeye household raised a Cyclone. I considered wearing my bumblebee bibs to move-in day but decided against it. Actually, I have no problem with her choice.

She picked Ames because she wants to study landscape architecture and environmental science. Science and design are among Iowa State’s strong suits. So it makes total sense.

Ames, where we lived for several years before moving east, is a great town. And ISU’s campus is beautiful. Our little girl who once wore tiny red cowboy boots will now be hurrying across that campus.

Back at the old home place, things are very quiet.

We spent more than a year preparing for this, all the campus visits, all the forms to fill out and all the decisions to make. Then there was the buying and buying and buying in anticipation of the big move. The compiling of lists checked far more than twice.

And then, after a relatively smooth move, it’s all over.

The only thing I can think of to compare it to is a wedding. After months of all-consuming preparation, on one whirlwind day, it’s over. Then you look at each other, without fanfare, and start the rest of your lives. It’s a feeling that’s tough to describe.

We had plenty of practice. Our daughter worked all summer, spent time with her boyfriend and hung out with her friends. There were many days she would leave in the morning and not return until late in the evening. So, it’s hardly a stunning jolt. And this is our second rodeo.

That doesn’t mean we don’t miss her, or her sister who is a senior at Drake. On the plus side, it will be exciting when they come home. They’re not far away. And we did manage to raise two strong, smart women who are following their dreams. It’s our job to nurture them and send them out into the world. Mission accomplished, with a lot of good fortune.

But we’re going to miss the show choir contests, cross-country meets and all the other events that once dominated our schedule and have now come to a screeching halt. No more band concerts, choir concerts and halftime shows in the crisp fall air.

And no more track meets. As parents of a kid who ran early and late in the meet, we will not pine for all the hours we spent on metal bleachers being buffeted by a frigid April wind.

But mostly we just miss having the kids around. My younger daughter bounding in the door with a sunny hello and out the door with a “see you, love you.” I might even miss figuring out what to have for dinner to please our pescatarian. I do need a break from salmon.

This past week, we sort of went on a meat binge. It was liberating. And tasty.

Now, without fanfare, we start the rest of our lives. So far, so good, but it’s too soon to tell. I’m trying my best not to drive my wife crazy by filling the silence with my annoying prattle.

We still have Scuttle, our diabetic, mostly blind and partially deaf dog. He just got over a nasty case of pancreatitis, which required multiple vet visits and several medications. He also answers to the name Lucky. He’s definitely high maintenance.

And we have each other. Next year will be our 25th anniversary. Our older daughter will turn 22. What seemed so distant two decades ago is now here. Got a haircut the other day and wondered what all that gray stuff was scattered on the floor.

But your kids never really leave the nest. They’ll always be your kids. They will still need help. There will be milestones to celebrate. The nest will always be home.

(319) 398-8262; todd.dorman@thegazette.com