We survived the college drop off. All summer, it felt like it was never going to get here, and then, we were packing the car and heading north. All things considered, it went way better than I expected.

I had no worries about A. After his accepted students’ weekend in the spring, it was very clear that he was going to be where he was meant to be, and he knew it. All through the summer, as placement tests, roommate information and all sort of other pre-orientation activities crossed his desk, I could see his enthusiasm building. It was me that I was worried about.

Knowing that at some point over the course of those days, I was going to have to get in my car and drive away weighed on me the entire time we were unloading his stuff and moving into his room. I had padded my trip with an extra day, “just in case.”

Due to limited parking in the city, we had a 20-minute window to drive as close as possible to his dorm and quickly unload the car. A was one of five students sharing a suite, and he was hoping to be one of the first on-site, mainly so he didn’t have to try to maneuver his things around anyone else while he was moving in.

And, oh my, did he have things. While most of them were along the lines of “essentials,” he also had to account for what ended up being 80 pounds of camping equipment and his large-frame backpack for his pre-orientation five-day hike. That ended up taking up the entire back seat of the vehicle. The rest of his stuff was all neatly packed in containers and bags and stacked carefully in the back of the SUV.

I have a weird obsession with packing vehicles. I think it stems from when I graduated from college and helped a friend move out of her on campus apartment to her new home. Originally, my dad had planned to come up with the pickup truck and help us move, but her new landlord changed the move in date, and I had to pack my apartment up and send it home with my dad before she was able to move out. My dad helped us rent a car for a few days, but as 22-year-olds, the only thing we were able to rent was a Geo Metro hatchback. Over the course of two days, we managed to move her entire apartment from one side of Boston to the other using that tiny car.

After that experience, moving a teenage boy into a small dormitory using a large SUV almost felt like cheating, but we managed it all in one trip. Once we got on campus, I shuttled items from the car to the dormitory door, and he carried them up the steps to his second-floor suite.

We were easily unloaded well within the 20-minute window; however, we ended up sandwiched between two other vehicles that didn’t have our masterful plan. Additionally, the campus did not reroute the garbage trucks that day, and they were also trying to get through the narrow streets and do their regular pickups. Chaos was an understatement. But A did appreciate how well organized we were.

I was finally able to get out of the traffic jam and move my vehicle to the designated off-site parking lot. I got back to a dismayed A, shaking his head, telling me there was no way his stuff was going to fit. He brought me up to the longest, skinniest dormitory room I had ever seen. A was able to stand in the middle of the room and touch both walls with his fingertips. Granted, he has a wingspan that is much larger than average, but still, it was going to be tight.

Luckily, my spatial navigation abilities came in handy again and we were able to figure out a configuration that allowed for the maximum usage of space. It was snug, but we got everything in there and he was happy with the setup.

A and I finished up and decided to take a break for lunch. I was allowed to eat in the freshman dining hall with him and we joined a whole pack of other parents and students waiting in the cafeteria line. While we were unpacking, A kept a list of things we hadn’t thought to pack, and we decided to take a trip to the local Target to try to get them before I left. Key among them were bed risers. It wasn’t much, but based on the lack of space, even a few inches more of storage under his bed would be a help.

That evening, I had signed myself up for the parent “mixer.” I was all too aware that A wanted some alone time, or some time to get to hang out with his roommates, and as hard as it was to leave, his pushing me out the door gave me no choice. That evening, I had a lovely time meeting other parents who were going through the same gamut of emotions that I was. At the end of the evening, I called A, and offered to bring him back to my hotel. “No, Mom, I’m good.” And, I could tell, he was.

So, bright and early the next morning, I threw my single duffel bag in the cavernous back of my SUV and called him one more time to offer to take him to breakfast. “Maybe just a quick sandwich,” he said. I parked my car in one of the garages, met him at the dorm, and we stopped for a breakfast sandwich as he walked me back, already confident and finding his way around.

This was my “just in case” day, but I could see that it wouldn’t be needed. A offered a quick hug, waved goodbye, and turned to head back to campus. I stood in the stairwell of the parking garage, watching him go, until I couldn’t see him anymore. And that was it. I had no choice but to get in the car and come home.

I’ve discovered a new kind of missing someone. It’s when you miss them, but you know that they’re in the right place, doing the things that make them happy, and somehow that makes you not miss them quite as much.

Life With Liz is published on Saturdays in the Times News.