August 14, 2025: The Final Thread

The last one out the door.

Sam left for his sophomore year today. Our youngest, our final summer holdout, the remaining thread between this season and the next.

The house pulsed with life while he was here because he always brought friends, filling the downstairs with laughter and the sound of poker chips clattering past midnight.

But this morning, after hugs, he pulled out in a loaded car, to an off-campus rental filled with his buddies. No more dorm living.

As he turned off Spring Branch, the summer sounds went with him. All gone with one right turn.

We’ve been here before, so this ritual isn’t new. But that doesn’t make it easy. These days, the goodbyes have less shock, but more ache. We know the kids will return, but the empty chairs at dinner are proof of the passage of time.

Yeah, our home stays cleaner. The laundry pile shrinks and the grocery bill drops. And yet the silence in the hallways and bedrooms is louder than Swifties at a Tay Tay concert.

We usually keep a living room light on for late-night arrivals. But tonight it went dark early. There’s no reason to leave the lamp burning.

Life goes on, and we’ll have adventures of our own. But we’ll also be waiting for the familiar creak of the side door opening when fall break rolls around.

Proud of you, Sam.