Damn you, Harry Chapin. I’ve always found your 1974 folk rock song “Cat’s in the Cradle” slightly melancholy and most definitely an earworm. A man lets time slip through his fingers, missing out on key moments of his child’s life, only to realize what he’s lost. Yep, got it.

I turned on the radio the other day, and it just happened to be playing. About halfway through the song, I lost it. Entirely. I started to sob uncontrollably. Big, ugly tears as I realized that in two days, I’ll be sending my eldest to college. Really? When did I turn into a cliché? “What I’d really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys. See you later, can I have them please?”

Is it wrong to say that in some small way I was blessed by the pandemic? My family was forced into isolation together and I spent more time with my daughter than I ever have. Petra and I grew even closer as we found ways to make the best of a terrible situation. We took long, fanciful drives to find the best donuts in the area (Brothers Donuts in Franklin, NH, by the way). We paid a visit to the White Cloud diner in Orange, MA, after watching the proprietor flip pancakes on TikTok. We spent Sunday mornings riding our Pelotons and grabbing acai bowls from a smoothie shop that was easily 30-min north.

The idea that she is leaving cuts me to the core. It hurts every fiber of my being. Of course, she’ll return, but not really. Not in the same way. She’ll come and go as she begins a new life, one in which I am no longer a central figure.

We spent the past weekend in Boston together — one last hurrah together before Petra joins her university’s class of 2025. The weekend was more for me than it was for her; I selfishly wanted as much time as I could get — just the two of us — before she moved out. Moved on. Moved up.

As we waited for our dinner at a harborside restaurant, I asked Petra, “What are you looking forward to the most?” “Meeting new people,” she said. But it was more than just that. I know she craves independence. She wants to expand her perspective and grow beyond her wonderful, but narrow, life experiences to date. And in many ways, as hard as it is for me to admit, she wants to cut the tether that binds us so tightly. She needs her space. She needs to try without parental help. And she needs to fail.

In college, she’ll gain knowledge, improve her problem-solving skills, and hopefully learn how to do her own laundry (although I’m not convinced). And if I’ve done my job well, she’ll also develop a passion for learning, focusing her studies on topics that interest and excite her, and ultimately point her towards her future.

Friends who’ve been through this have tried to prepare me, and I am steeling myself, but the emptiness I already feel is overwhelming. She is my rock, and I will miss her terribly.

And as sad as I feel, I’m excited for her. Will she miss home? Probably. Will I miss her? You know it.

But so many opportunities open up for her now. And when she wants to come home? We’ll get together then. I know we’ll have a good time then.