A few days ago, I had lunch with the mothers of some of
our older daughter’s high school classmates.
It was a time to get together to talk about what we’d just experienced;
within the past few weeks, we all have taken our daughters off to college. For some of us, it’s the first child “out of
the nest,” and for others, the nest is now empty.
The consensus from our lunch group was this: No matter how ready our kids are for their
independence, no matter how well-prepared we think we are for that day, no matter
how excited we are for our teens to have a great college experience, the act of
a mother leaving her child in a far-away (or not so far-away) place is
gut-wrenching.
No one prepares you for this moment when you are holding your
newborn in your arms. Or when you’re
reading your toddler the tenth bedtime story of the evening. Or when you’re sitting up with your sick
child all night. Or when you’ve been at
the soccer field, the pool or the volleyball court for hours on end, watching
your child and her team. Or when you’re struggling
to be patient as you help your teen learn to drive. You are there, right there with your child, keeping her safe.
In reality, no one can prepare you for this moment. One mother shared that, as she and her
husband began the drive home from the “drop off,” she told him that she felt
that she’d just lost her job. That
nurturing job. That wiping teary eyes
and runny noses job. That kissing
boo-boos and doctoring skinned knees job.
That baking cookies and doing laundry job. That listening and all-too-often having to bite
your tongue job. That being right there to catch you when you fall job.
It’s a job that we inevitably have to lose, that is, if
we’ve done it well. After all, we’re
here to help our children become confident, self-sufficient, capable, morally-responsible
– and independent – adults.
But that doesn’t make the separation any easier.
I didn’t appreciate that fact when I left home for
college – way back when. I happily
soared off for what would be an amazing adventure: I encountered inspiring
professors who stirred my passion for learning, made lifelong friends, had my
first experiences in community service, grew as a leader, and learned more
about myself than I ever could have imagined.
It was all good – and the kind of experience that I wish
for our daughter.
But while I soared off without a care in the world, I
know now that my mother was still at home being a mother – worrying about me
being in a larger city, fretting about the dangers that I might encounter, wondering
if I were eating healthy meals, getting enough sleep and keeping up with my coursework.
But all the while I was fiercely asserting my
independence. I recall now that as I
prepared to drive home for my first fall break, I’d expected to leave around
10:00 that morning, and told my parents that I’d be home by 5:00 p.m. The fellow student from my hometown who was
riding home with me realized that he wouldn’t be finished with a test that he
was taking until nearly noon, so we got a later-than-expected start. I could have called my parents to let them
know about the delay, but no doubt busy with my new life, I didn’t.
And when I pulled into the driveway just after 7:00 p.m.,
my mother’s tear-stained face in the kitchen window spoke volumes about
motherhood: the worry, the fear, and the undying instinct to protect our young
never go away.
And so, I’m hoping that our own fiercely independent daughter
– who seems to be adjusting happily and well to college life – will forgive me
for worrying, for fretting, for not being able to just kick that mother-job to
the curb. I’m hoping that she’ll know
that I’m still there, cheering her on and watching her soar, albeit from a safe
distance.
After all, she’s got beautifully-developing new wings to
try out, and she needs to be able to soar and enjoy them.
