It Was the Damn Baseball Pants That Got to Me

It was the damn baseball pants that did it.
I was putting the detergent away in the laundry room, reached up to opened the cabinet and your old baseball pants tumbled out.
I picked them up.

Stained knees, ripped pocket, worn out fabric on the backside, long outgrown.

Damn baseball pants.

I have tried all summer not to cry. I deliberately avoided all the articles online about the grief around dropping kids off at college. About how hard it is to watch your kids grow up. About saying goodbye t...