Quiet. Unbelievably quiet. His dad watches the hugs with tears filling his eyes. Quiet knowing glances. Last pats with the dog. Sitting. Slow tears (mine). Texts. Calls.
Max is, of course, the matter-of-fact one. "We'll see you in October, and then Thanksgiving, and then Christmas, and then summer break." Indeed, we will.
I find that others warn you of this day, much like the day he entered this world. The baby who failed part of the APGAR because they needed to make him cry. No one can fully describe the moment they launch as adults. Its similarity to Kindergarten is shocking. He's ready. It's time. We've given him wings, a map, and a net. And our hearts.