I didn’t cry the afternoon I moved out of my childhood home. I didn’t shed a single tear as I dropped my final bag in my dorm room. I didn’t choke back a sob as I bid my farewell to my parents before they departed for their four hour suburban ride back home - the same parents who were going to relive the experience the following day with the oldest son. The emotions most freshmen experience as they move out of their house the first time were emotions I had the pleasure of not experiencing that humid afternoon. I was not entirely prepared for college, but I prepared myself for what I believed was enough.

My mom had scheduled my return to be near the Thanksgiving season. The idea seemed logical to me because I didn’t want to be that freshman who visited home too soon. I wanted to experience what it was like to be free and make my own decisions. School kept me busy in the time period between my drop-off and my next pick-up, and I made friends with girls from down the hall who were in similar situations as I was.

Around a month before I was scheduled to drive home for the holiday season, I noticed something abnormal within my schedule. One night, I would take part in a unit exam for one of my classes. The following morning, I would take another test in a different course and finish off the week by attending one more class. Because of the two exams, the discussion sections for the course were canceled the rest of the week. I discovered I had a three-day weekend and decided that I wasn’t going to wait any longer to visit my hometown. I wanted to be around my family, and I wanted a break from the college life. I was worn out, exhausted from all the tests and projects I had completed over the course of ten weeks. After a quick phone call with my father, I was heading back home.

My time at home wasn’t what I originally anticipated. I learned a few weeks prior to my return that my father was ill with pneumonia, and in the course of the following weeks, my mother and younger brother had also acquired the illness. My older brother decided not to return home from college the same weekend for the sake of his health, and my younger sister was away at a birthday party most of the weekend. Instead of participating in fun activities and attempting to catch up on homework, I rested on the couch and watched animated movies with my sick loved ones. Though most may find it uneventful and boring, I had a good time being able to spend my hours around the individuals I grew up with for eighteen years. As I was leaving Sunday morning to head back to my second home, it was then that I had the epiphany.

I didn’t want to leave.

It’s not that I didn’t want to leave and destroy all the progress I had created in receiving a degree. I wanted to return to the college town I had grown to love in the few months I was on campus. I wanted to return to my new friends and take a nap in the room I spent more hours decorating than what I probably should have. However, being away from my home for as long as I was away made me realize just how difficult it should be for someone who has never lived on their own before. It made me realize just how difficult it should have been months prior.

As I previously stated, I like to believe I prepared myself for college. When I wasn’t working at my part-time retail job or catching up on my favorite televison series, I was browsing through different social media platforms. I was searching for some way to grasp the concept of living independently even though I would be sharing a small room with a random individual for nine months. I had ate all the food I knew I would miss, I slept as long as I could in my own bed, and I enjoyed every minute of being able to stand in my own shower without sandals and highly-pressurized water pounding my face. However, no amount of Pinterest boards could have prepare me for when I left my house the second time. People didn’t have advice for that. They didn’t give tips on what to cherish before leaving the humble abode the second time and the third time and the fourth time.

Though my family was ill-stricken, being with them made me realize just how much I should have missed them in the time I was away from home. Life with them was and still is so much simpler. I didn’t have to worry upcoming exams or projects for three different courses. I was able to relax and taste some freedom that wasn’t granted to me when I moved away. Not to mention, I am missing out on witnessing my younger siblings grow and mature. My brother participated in his first high school football game this fall, and didn’t see a single game. My sister broke her foot at soccer practice, and I didn’t hear about it until a couple weeks after the accident. Small moments like these not only create memories, but they bring a family closer together. After moving away, it’s hard to enhance that connection when I only spend a few months out of the whole year with them.

I didn’t cry the morning I departed my favorite building in western Iowa. I didn’t shed a single tear as I waved a goodbye to my pneumonia-stricken mother. I didn’t choke back a sob as I was greeted with farewell signs at the edge of my town. However, leaving my hometown made me realize just how much I should have cried. I was leaving behind all the people I was raised with, and I would be missing out on observing my own younger siblings do the same thing my older brother and I did. From sporting events to graduation and dances - every event I would miss. That is life as an adult though, and maybe I will shed a few tears when I return home over the Thanksgiving break.