For more than a year leading up to my youngest daughter starting
college, many of my casual conversations would start the same way. I’d be in
Target, or the library, or out for coffee, and I’d bump into an
acquaintance. As the generalities got
sorted through, the hellos and how-are-yous, the subject invariably came around
to children.
A typical conversation went
like this:
Well-Meaning Acquaintance (WMA): How old is your youngest
daughter?
Me: She’s a senior
now.
WMA: Wow! A senior!
So she’s almost ready for college!
Me: I know! It’s so
exciting!
(Loooooooong pause)
WMA: What on earth are you going to DO?
Ah, that gets right to the heart of it. What on earth WAS I
going to do? For 20 years, my life had revolved around our girls. From playgroups and Chinese preschool to room
mom, from Girl Scout leader to booster club president, most of my activities
and even some of my jobs revolved around parenting or children. It was
interspersed with other things –growing my own business, writing, volunteering,
and working. But the heart of my life
was raising two independent, strong, kind women, women who would have the
confidence to leave home, to travel, to take the next step in a life filled
with opportunities.
It was a job well done.
Ready or not, college was right around the corner. SHE was ready. I was not.
After a year of lasts (the last football game, the last school lunch
packed, the LAST last day), a year of firsts was beginning. There were dorm
room assignments, roommates, and college orientation, followed by list after
list of things you absolutely must have to outfit the perfect dorm room. Summer zoomed by in a blur of Target bags and
Amazon Prime boxes, and before I could blink, it was time to start packing.
We got our oldest daughter settled into her dorm for her
senior year, which by now was like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes. And then, finally, it was the youngest’s
turn. We watched as she packed up her most beloved
treasures, and the room she’d had since she was a baby grew
empty. Bags and boxes morphed into Rubbermaid tubs. We were excited but nervous as we pulled onto the gorgeous campus, our faithful Big Blue van stuffed to the gills with all the things she might possibly need for her
new life. Suddenly,
it was here – freshman move-in.
A flurry of activities made the lead up to goodbye a little
easier – moving in, unpacking and decorating, last-minute shopping trips and
dinners out, and a beautiful convocation ceremony. Those two days seemed to pass in a
moment. Before I knew it, I found myself standing in her
doorway, the moment arriving so much sooner than I was ready. As I kissed my
daughter goodbye at the door of her new home, and gave her the hug that would
have to last for two months, I could barely get the words “I love you” out
before the tears started. The nest that
I had nurtured and fostered and loved so passionately was now officially empty.
Although it had been coming for two decades, I was achingly
aware that this was a moment of clear delineation, of “before” and
“after.” This wasn’t just a turn
of the page, or the next chapter in my life. It was a whole different book.
Now, with the literal closing of a door, my most important
role for more than 20 years was done. Not that mothering is ever completely
over. No matter what the age, you never stop being a mom. But the real world, every day, “see you after
school” life was finished. Suddenly, I
had been let go, or at the very least demoted, from what wasn’t just a job but
a calling.
In the weeks since college drop off, I have drifted,
unmoored from the life I’ve known for so long.
I’ve cried my way through grocery store trips and sighed heavily each
time I’ve come home to an empty house. And
the answer to the question, “What on earth are you going to do?” still goes unanswered. I’m not quite done mourning.
Soon, perhaps, I
will discover what lies next, and in the meantime, I’m giving my old blog a new
look and renewed purpose. I hope you’ll come along for the journey.
