That child you love -- the one you raised from creation that centered your universe, rocked your world and drove lava into your veins at the same time -- yeah that one -- you can't keep him. You have to let him go.

It's an adventure and it's exciting, but it's also poignant and just a little bit scary. Sometimes it goes well and sometimes it doesn't, but if you could measure the level of emotion in the air for these days, it would be deep into the red zone.

They do this, kids. They start out making you weak at the knees with the love you feel for them -- their tiny little fingers and sweet-smelling heads -- and then push you to the brink of homicide after a few short years of incessantly asking, "Why?" and "Why not?"

Their Pop is the one they saw last month, the last time they saw him. The Pop that was not feeling well that day. The Pop that slept most of the day, but still managed to get up and spend some time with them.

This felt like just another trip we were taking together. Returning home without Katie was impossible to process.

An era ends, and I'm sad, terribly sad. But also so very grateful for the incredible community and the wonderful experiences we have shared as a family.

I'm on a road trip with my son, Adam. We're driving 1,265 miles over four days, from California, where he's lived his whole life, to New Mexico, where he'll live for the next four years while he attends college.