I have a senior in college and a senior in high school. While I’m excited to see what the world has in store for their next phase of life, I can’t kick the melancholy. He could go anywhere to follow his dreams of working for a major sports team. She’s applying to schools from California to Georgia to Connecticut.

I do my best to avoid looking at the garage shelves that house old baseball gloves, softball bats, worn bike helmets and jump ropes. I prepare myself when clicking on a Facebook memory. And nothing triggers more emotion than a Taylor Swift song.

And then there’s this behemoth that stares at me whenever I pull the car into our driveway.

I see him shooting threes in the rain with a killer follow-through.

I remember playing one on one, me clearly dominating.

I’d laugh when I’d go outside in the morning and find the ball lodged in a Baptisia knowing he ran for the hills when the bees circled him as he attempted to retrieve the ball. Yes, dad couldn’t resist surrounding the court with his plants.

How many more times will I hear the sound of the ball smacking the garage door as I sit on a conference call no more than twenty feet away?

Anyone have a pause button available?