Today’s inspiration comes from a memory that still evokes strong emotions. I was sending my youngest child to college. My life would soon be forever changed.

I’d been preparing for months — envisioning the trip, booking flights, hotels and specialized services. Traveling by wheelchair is not easy, especially 3,000 miles away from home.

But my biggest challenge was the mental preparation: trying to find that perfect zone where I could gracefully let go … without falling apart.

I sought the advice of other mothers.

Some were practical:
     “Bring tissues.”
     “Wear dark glasses.”
     “Wait until you get into the car to cry.”

Others laid out the unvarnished truth.
     “It’s awful.”
     “I cried every day for weeks.”
     “I don’t know how you are going to do it. It’s so far away.”

But the best advice came from a twenty-five-year-old young woman, who wasn’t even a mother at the time.“You will be fine,” my wise eldest daughter texted me on move-in day. “Just think of it as so exciting!”

So I banished the stoic mantra I had concocted—“He’s ready; I’m ready”—for the more energized “It’s so exciting!” and was surprised at the shift in my attitude:

When I focused on the excitement of the unknown, rather than the fear of it, the loss became filled with wonder and anticipation—Becky Galli, Morning Fuel.

It’s so exciting, I thought as we had our last breakfast together before heading to campus, letting the possibilities of the next morning’s meal lighten the tone.

“It’s so exciting,” I repeated as we emptied the car and filled half the dorm room, hypothesizing about the young man who would soon fill the other half.

Unlike my daughter’s all-day dorm move-in, the unpacking went quickly. Once we finished, I was gently dismissed by my son to wander the campus until we met for the dorm’s student-parent meeting.

“The conclusion of this event is the traditional time for you to say good-bye to your family members,” the student schedule stated so matter-of-factly.

But it was an artful good-bye.

The dorm’s 97 students and their parents crammed into the sun-filled lounge. After remarks from the resident advisors and a slide show featuring each student, we were told the time had come for us to say good-bye.

Hugs and tears muffled our farewells until the students departed. Only the parents remained.

“We know you’ve said good-bye, but here’s one last chance for you to share your parting words,” a voice said quietly above the emotional silence.

“Take a marker and write a note to your child on the glass panes, if you like. Give it careful thought as it will be here all year.”

Slowly the parents moved to the panes and began to craft their well wishes.

It’s so exciting, I whispered to myself as I took the pen in my hand.

“Deep roots. Strong wings. Big heart. Show them what you’ve got, Pete.”

Turning from the windows, I wheeled out the door.

He belongs. He is well cared for. He is doing what we have been preparing him to do. All part of the plan.

It’s so exciting.

And I made it to the car.

2012 Becky and Peter

And on we go. . .

📖 Note: For those of you following along in Morning Fuel, this entry is referenced on September 10 and originally published as part of my “From Where I Sit” series in The Baltimore Sun.

🎙️ P.S. From Ireland, as promised! I had a fascinating conversation with podcaster, Sharon Fitzmaurice. Thanks, Sharon, for your thought-provoking questions and heartfelt insights. If you’re craving a dose of inspiration and some uniquely uplifting ways to stay hopeful, 🎧✨ click below to listen and let me know what you think! 😊🌟