Two years ago, as I sat in an airport, distraught and brokenhearted, I tried to distract myself by watching a young mother struggle with a couple of infant children. I wanted to help but knew most mothers would shy away from a guy who looks like me offering to help with her kids. Yet more than anything I wanted to tell her how I was feeling. How I would give anything at that moment to be struggling with my three little kids.

I wanted to tell her that in some ways it gets easier, but that honestly would not have been the truth. Not that it’s bad — I have loved every minute of being a parent, but there was pain. And no more so than at that moment. I wanted to tell her to savor this time because one day she may have to sit in a n airport waiting to fly home after dropping off her kid in a big city hundreds of miles away.

That’s what I was doing. Something thousands of parents have been going through this fall as their recent high school grads moved away.

My daughter was the first of three to leave the nest and start a new experience far away from home.

It’s an awkward kind of pain in that, while I hurt, I also had never been prouder and more excited of the mission work she was doing. I knew this experience would be for her good and that she would grow into an amazing young woman. I tried to console myself with her happiness, but inside I just felt broken.

Her time away was truly a remarkable experience. Everything I hoped for her happened during her 18 months away. We talked every week, and I watched as she grew from an odd schoolgirl to a mature but still a bit quirky young woman. Even better, the time seemed to fly by and before I knew it she was back home.

Home. I love that word. I think maybe it’s my favorite. For me, at least it is practically synonymous with peace. Whether it be the home I grew up in or the one my wife and I have made over the years. As our kids grew up, I have of- ten commented to my wife about how good it felt when everyone was home. So many times we are busy with our jobs and the kids are out with activities or friends. Then at some point everyone makes it home. I could suddenly relax, not even realizing that I needed to, yet there was always something missing until everyone was home.

Now, here I am again, almost exactly two years later. But this time it’s my wife’s turn to sit in the airport after dropping off our daughter; this time to go out of state for her freshman year in college.

I thought it would be easier this time, but in fact it is more difficult. Not only is our daughter gone, but this week our younger son will be leaving for a two-year mission to Brazil.

Now I must go through all the same separation anxieties I did with m y daughter, with one even bigger caveat.

As my wife and daughter drove away, I realized that our family probably would never live under the same roof again — at least not altogether. Yes, we still have our lifetime of memories to make, but it definitely will be different. The kids will eventually begin making homes of their own — the way it should be.

Parenting must be the oddest job ever. You put all your sweat and tears into something that when you finally start to get it right, the benefits of your dedicated work leave. It’s part of the master plan.

One of my favorite theologians, Jeffrey R. Holland, wrote, “Our children take their flight into the future with our thrust and with our aim.” What he meant was, children leaving home shows that parents have done their job and have taught them values, resilience and life skills. It’s only when letting the kids go that parents can see the fruits of their efforts. We can’t know if we were successful until we let them leave home.

Also, all is not lost. At times, it’s the act of let ting our children go that can strengthen our bonds.

One of the most famous stories in the Bible is that of the Prodigal Son. While the parable teaches about repentance, it’s also a story about the sacred bond between a father and son. The father could have stopped his son from leaving and he did not have to give the son his share of the inheritance. Even though the father disagreed with his son’s decisions, he supported him, nonetheless. It took some time, but eventually the son realized how good he had it at home. In the end, father and son were even closer than before.

One of my all-time favorite musicals, “Fiddler on the Roof,” resonates even more with me now. It’s about Tevye and the rest of his Jewish village trying to survive as the Russian government is pushing them out. At the heart of its story, a father learns to say goodbye to his kids. While Tevye is the clear head of his household, at least in his own mind, he does his best to protect his family by holding on to tradition. He thinks he knows what’s best for his five daughters, but he must grapple with each as they make their own choices and move out to form their own homes.

When his eldest daughter, Tzeitel, informs Tevye she is not going to marry the man the matchmaker chose but instead marry the man she loves, he has a tough choice. Tradition says she should marry the butcher, but then Tevye begins to debate himself about how on one hand tradition is important, but so is his daughter’s happiness.

I have found myself having a similar conversation as I prepare to watch my kids go. On one hand, I want to them to stay at home forever or at least stay close; but on the other hand I know they need to move on to grow because that’s the only way I can show them that I trust them. Like with so many parents watching their kids go off to college, the military, jobs or missions, these farewells are layered with grief, pride and deep love.

As Tevye struggles mightily between holding onto his authority and recognizing his daughters’ independence, his conversations with God throughout the play reveal this tension: he negotiates, jokes, pleads and sometimes protests, but ultimately yields, even when it costs him dearly.

The act of saying goodbye over and over becomes a spiritual trial for Tevye. For myself, peace comes from holding on to the last words between Tevye and his second eldest daughter, Hodel, as she boards the train to Siberia. “Papa, God alone knows when we shall see each other again,” she says. Tevye responds, “Then we shall leave it in His hands.”

James Finck is a professor of American history at the University of Science and Arts of Oklahoma. He may be reached at Historically-Speaking1776@gmail. com.