We dropped my daughter off for her freshman year of college last week. I knew it would be hard to let her go. I had tearily put together a graduation party playlist earlier in the summer, and had listened to it over and over, feeling the need to drown myself in the emotions that were part of the process of separation. Two weeks before she left, I stopped listening to it. I knew I had to be strong, and it was just too painful. It was getting way too real.
As the day drew close, even her confident and enthusiastic demeanor began to show cracks. She spent more time cuddling her little sister on the couch. She held the dog close, gazing into her eyes. She spoke in softer tones to her close-in-age sister with whom she shares a room.
But she was also eager to go. As the town emptied out and the number of friends to hang out with dwindled, she told me she wished she could go right away, that day. It was hard for her to linger, knowing what was coming. There was excitement, mixed with a touch of grief, in her expression.
We packed the car the night before, which turned out to be a really good thing. We weren’t leaving until noon the next day, and that meant all the work was done. She was left with a lazy morning to hang out around the house with everyone. She and her little sister cried as they held each other. She and her roommate-sister watched videos on social media and laughed together like never before. She moved slowly through the house, going through her routines with extra special attention to her environment.
With her side of the room emptied, I couldn’t help but go in, strip her bed and clean under it. As I carried some of my findings, the girls cracked up at some items that had been buried there (some that she would’ve been punished for if she wasn’t leaving).
She embraced her sisters and her grandmother in the driveway. As we drove out of town, my husband tried to talk to her about details and plans for our arrival on campus. She was gazing out the back window and asked him to, “Please be quiet.” She was looking at her town.
Move-in went beautifully. Her roommate couldn’t have been nicer, and her parents seemed like people we would want to be friends with. The dads set up appliances and lofted beds while the moms unpacked clothing and the girls decorated. When the work was done, I did not want to leave and my daughter didn’t seem ready, either. We found more ways to continue to perfect the room, spending much longer than was necessary, while the dads went exploring. They returned with animated descriptions of volleyball courts, game rooms and movie theatres. Their envy of their daughters’ situation was clear.
Her roommate went to lunch with her parents and to see them off so our daughter accepted our invitation to lunch, as well. Waiting in the long line to order our artisan sandwiches, my husband asked our daughter, “So is mom gonna cry when we leave?” As they both laughed, my veneer cracked. I had been able to successfully keep my focus on the logistics of the day, but now they’d brought up the big picture that I had been trying to avoid. It took several minutes for my silent weeping in this public place to end, and the glances from other families around me were nothing but empathetic.
After lunch, we were fortunate to have one more task to do before our departure. The refrigerator we had bought at the campus trash-to-treasure sale had not yet been delivered. I refused to leave until it was set up. Our daughter looked pleased when we said we would hunt it down and be back soon.
The mission was successful, the refrigerator ran well, and she and her roommate stocked it. By now, it was 4:00 and I knew we were out of reasons to stay.
My daughter and I looked around the room awkwardly. Finally I said, “I guess it’s time to go,” and I asked if she would walk us to the car. She said she preferred to say goodbye in her room and I followed her lead. My eyes filled as we hugged, but I didn’t let the tears fall. She had a torn look on her face and laughed nervously as she pulled away. I walked out of the room and started down the hall, wiping tears and trying to hold it together.
After descending the flights of stairs came the toughest moment of all. Stepping over the threshold from the dorm into the quad outside left me with what felt like a hole in my heart.
As we drove away, my husband touted all the wonderful things about what lie ahead for her. I agreed with him wholeheartedly, but I explained that what I was feeling was a normal part of the separation process. He admitted feeling it too, but being more overwhelmed with pride and joy at where she had landed herself and the life on which she was embarking.
After an hour-long walk along the rocky coastline and cleansing phone calls to our supportive parents, I felt stronger. Since we were still far from home, going out for a great meal and plenty of wine topped off a night of more celebrating than grieving.
Since getting home, the toughest moments have been coming across things she had been doing before she left. Her leftover bowl of raspberries in the refrigerator. The string of lights she had hung on the patio fence for a final fire-pit with her friends. The t-shirt in the laundry she had slept in on her last night at home. It also hits me every time I set the table for dinner, needing one less place setting.
I’ve read that even the parents who struggle the most adjust by October. Thanks to several phone calls and face-times full of happy chatter, I know she is doing better than fine. Interactions with her are different now. We all get excited and gather around the phone when she calls. Mild irritability on both sides has been replaced with appreciation.
Some friends minimize this process, saying things like, “Oh, it’ll be fine.” And that’s true. But isn’t it also okay to pause and acknowledge this monumental transition? Isn’t it an appropriate time to look back at how far we’ve come and honor that past, while looking forward to the future with excitement and enthusiasm? Isn’t it okay to make a really big deal out of this?
The reservations have been made for Family Weekend and we are all enthusiastically looking forward to it. The transition has begun, the adjustment is progressing, and the future looks bright.
