Returning Home from the College Drop-Off

It used to be that by the time your children were coming of age and leaving the house, you were pretty likely dead or expected to be so fairly soon. But here I am vigorously alive and my son has left for University. It is the victory we were all working toward, but he gets to celebrate, while I am left in an odd mourning period.

How to proceed?

I cried yesterday while composing a note to sneak into his last bag of miscellany, trying to express things that I could say out loud, but would be unintelligible through my blubbering. Then, when we dropped him off at the dorm after a solid diner meal, I hugged him goodbye without tears. Arriving home, however, was another matter. I walked up from the basement, stood in the kitchen, and said out loud to no one — “I feel sad now” and sank into sobbing. I wasn’t prepared for whatever that emotion was; it was jarring for me.

We moved into this home when he was 1 1/2 and raising him and his sister has been the whole purpose of our being here. I mean, I’m lucky in that I did not have him until I was 31 years old, so I remember that I lived a good 8 years of my adulthood without that child-raising focus. I don’t remember HOW to do that, but there is re-assurance in knowing that those years felt very full and enriching to me — formed by struggle and searching, exploration, adventure, and change. I also feel like I’ve done a fairly good job in my child-rearing years of maintaining myself as an individual entity. I have a job that I love, creative hobbies, several excellent people to do fun things with, an extremely supportive spouse, and even a few FRIENDS with whom I can say or do anything.

So, I guess I’m poised to do okay? But I did not predict the way I felt upon returning home from UMD yesterday (just like I did not predict sobbing 3 times within the writing of these paragraphs). I’m a “person of letters”, so I desire to put these feelings into words, but it seems impossible to do so. It is a loss. I feel loss. But trying to understand it is proving to be very difficult. This son of mine has done an excellent job preparing me for this moment — largely ignoring us and holing up in his room for the last two years. But having him here was what felt normal. Worrying about how much time he spent online gaming felt normal. Calling him out to help me with dinner just so I could spend a little time with him felt normal.

His not being here does not feel normal, and I know it will soon, which is maybe… scary? uncertain? See? It’s hard to put into words.

There has been a lot written about how the transition out of the house and into college will be extra tricky for these pandemic-times 18 year-olds who have been trapped mostly at home for the last 17 months. My son reflected out loud about his trepidation at having spent 90% of his time at home for the last year, and now will spend 0% at home — surrounded at all times by other people. I’m sure it is going to be jarring and difficult for these young people.

However, much less seems to be published about the transition for the moms and dads of these times. These kids who normally would have been out in the world — away from home doing God-only-knows-what, have been home with us. Although they may have actively avoided spending time with us, as is age-appropriate, they were here. And having them in the house feels a whole lot different than having them gone.

I think the reason I did not cry when leaving my boy at school is because his being there and doing that is not what makes me sad. His launching into the next thing is the part that I am excited about. The sob-inducing part is the being here in the house and not having him taking up space and effort in my mind and in my soul. What do I do with that? And without that?

Everyone says that parents continue to worry about their kids even when they’re grown, and I don’t doubt that. However, this moment (the day after the drop-off) is the transition to that new kind of worry. Up until this moment, our kids’ lives were our lives too. Our days were spent creating the rhythms, events, opportunities, and limitations of much of their world, but their existence in our homes and hearts caused that same foundational effect on our own lives.

Now they set off to live the life that they create for themselves. It leaves a real dissonance in my emotional mind and the physical space around me. I’m pretty confident that I can find my new rhythm, but in these first days, it seems like all these new songs just make me cry.