When I was younger, my mom and I would go house hunting during the weekends. My parents had no desire to move at the time but my mom has always loved exploring the different options out there. Naturally, she allowed me to tag along. With the help of mom’s cousin, a real estate agent, we would visit all kinds of houses on the market, from old and full of character to the small and cozy homes and the bigger than life mansions, which were our favorite. I remember how we would run through all the big rooms and call out to each other after getting lost in the vast space. It always brings a smile to my face.

But as a senior in college now, that smile begins to grow smaller. The childish exploration with my mom has become an actual search for my own apartment. Sure, the experience is still fun, exciting, and a point of growth in my life, but at the end of the day, this part of the transition into “adulthood” is terrifying and bittersweet.

My terror is born from the fact that I’ve never lived in my own place without my mom (dorming at school doesn’t count). She’s always been by my side and she always will be but when I begin to envision myself living separately from her I begin to panic. I know I can care for myself and function as an adult – I can cook, clean, be responsible, and all that – but I panic because I’ll no longer be able to walk out of my room and sit down on the couch with my mom to watch RuPaul every night. I’ll no longer have the shit scared out of me at super random moments (constant prankster) and I won’t lie down on my bed and discover an unwelcome ice pack stuffed into my pillowcase (yes, my mom has done this to me on multiple occasions). But mainly I panic because I’m terrified to be alone, to lose my mom. She won’t be going anywhere but it’s that time for me to leave the nest and part of me doesn’t want to.

This fear of being alone/losing my mom brings to me the bittersweet aspect of this journey. Throughout this entire process – no, this entire year so far – I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my brother and my dad. Erik never got to start this process, as he was only 20 when he died. I can guarantee you Erik was starting to plan for after college and he was definitely eager to start living on his own. But he never made it to senior year as I have. I find it so unfair. He’ll never be able to visit apartments or imagine himself living in them. He’ll never get to move into, decorate, and call a place his own. He should have been able to experience that for himself and with me.

And when it comes to my dad, well, I hate adulthood even more. He can’t help me pick out a place or negotiate prices on my behalf. He can’t set up all my electronics and hide the wires, making everything picture perfect just the way he liked it. He can’t be my handy man and fix the squeaky door or the broken refrigerator handle. But, the main thing that breaks my heart is the fact that I can’t see my dad crying like the man-baby he was as he and my mom leave me in my new home. I won’t be able to see the pride and love in his eyes.

I know finding an apartment will be exciting and thrilling but I can’t ignore the pain I know it will bring. And I know that, in some sense, Erik and my dad are still with me and watching over me but although I’ll be proud of my independence, I’ll never stop thinking about what they are missing.

And mom will be just a phone call away.