When my elder daughter was just three her original daycare provider – a woman who ran her daycare out of her converted double-garage – announced this little girl was nearing “graduation age.”

Three. Seemed kind of ridiculous, but most of the children were babies or toddlers. I toured a number of local centers looking for the right one. They ranged from wood paneled basements packed with toys and distractions to whole homes with every room crowded with kids to modern facilities with a professional, albeit semi-clinical, vibe. After a few months we (wife & I) made our final decision. We would enroll our daughter at Knowledge Beginnings. It was the second most expensive option, but it ranked high. Late one Friday afternoon in June, she and three other kids had a graduation ceremony at her daycare – complete with diplomas, ice cream and one last opportunity to play with her friends. I remember their shrieks of joy as they played Tag and Duck, Duck, Goose. We were all sorry to see her time here end.

The following Monday, I took her for her first official day at her new “school.” It was big and airy and clean. She held my hand as we walked up the stairs to her classroom on the second floor. Her classroom was big and filled with little boys and girls doing things. One of the two young women managing the room approached us and introduced herself. She cleared her throat and announced in a loud voice “Everyone! We have a new member joining us today! This is … ” The children paused for a few moments then went back to what they were doing – mostly playing. My daughter took a moment to scan her future home and then immediately scurried back to me to hold my hand. I stayed for about 20 – 30 minutes as she slowly led me by the hand around the room. Eventually she settled herself at a table already occupied by several other girls drawing pictures with crayons. I whispered in her ear “Just introduce yourself. They won’t bite.” To break the ice, I asked each one what they were drawing. One of them seemed more engaging the others. This girl seemed like the friendliest. I crossed my fingers.

Ms. Albira – one of the daycare providers eventually came by and asked to speak with me. Out in the hall, with the door closed, she told me to leave. “It’s OK. She’ll be fine.” I should go back and give her a kiss goodbye. “No, don’t draw attention like that. Just go.” And I did.

As I sat in the car I looked up at the big windows of the room I just left. And there was my little girl at the window crying and waving frantically. “Don’t leave!” A few moments later, I saw Ms. Albira take her by the hand and lead her away. I tried not to cry as I drove to work that morning.

That was about 16 years ago. Today, I helped that same girl load the car with all the things she’s bringing back to college, two big duffle bags packed with clothes, a tackle box loaded with makeup, a backpack with laptop, her brand new skis and ski boots. I run around the house looking for anything she’s about to leave behind and find an opened 8-pack of White Claw, her missing AirPods, a blow dryer, and her winter boots. “Oh thanks, I was looking for those.” Her little bedroom is a disaster, but it will give me something to do a little later. She takes one last look around and heads for the door. “OK, Bye!”

“Wait!” I grab her and hug her tight. “I’m gonna miss you, so much.” I don’t want to let her go.

I move to the porch window and watch as she hops in the car and takes a few seconds to punch something into her phone.

I’m still waving goodbye as she pulls out of the drive and heads back to UVM.

A minute passes.

And then another.

And another.

The house is quiet.

I want to cry.