Three weeks ago, we dropped our youngest off at JMU to start his freshman year of college. On Saturday, I moved our oldest into a townhouse at MIDD to start his senior year. That means, it’s just my husband and me at home now.
Alone.
Officially empty nesters.
This post is not going to be about my new position in life as an empty nester. After all, it’s only been a few days and it hasn’t really sunk in yet. That post will come later.
For now, I’m reflecting on how different this send off felt compared to the one three weeks ago.
Leaving O at JMU was bittersweet because it’s his first time living away from home and as ready as he was to go—and I was for him to go—there’s an adjustment period and lots of uncertainty. It hit me a little harder than expected, but the good news is, he seems to be adjusting well, making friends, and finding his way.
Leaving H at MIDD this weekend was also bittersweet, but for a different reason. Seeing him reunited with his roommates warmed my heart. He feels at home with them and it shows. That makes me both happy and a little melancholy, if I’m being honest.
For the past three years, I’ve been the parent who’s moved H in and out of his dorm each semester. I hate the drive, but love the alone time with him; we gossip, exchange stories, and have deep talks about everything from social issues to reality TV to relationships and family matters.
On the last leg of the ride, I force him to listen to my college playlist from thirty years ago. I like the nostalgia of it—and the fact he knows all the words to everything from Rolling with Kid ‘n Play to Mustang Sally makes me grin with pride. The kid’s got range, just like his mama.
Once on campus, our move-in/move-out process is quick and efficient. No more than an hour—unless H stops to talk to friends, which happens a lot. We cap off the experience with lunch in town, accompanied by any roommates and friends who are available and hungry. Then, after a long hug, I drive home. Alone.
With the exception of dropping H off at boarding school when he was 16, I’ve never gotten weepy when saying goodbye to him. He thrives in new environments and I’m excited for him. I think that’s why that wave of melancholy this year took me by surprise.
Driving home, I think I figured it out. Moving H into a townhouse felt more grown up than in years past, when I moved him into a dorm room. Something about having a full kitchen and his own bedroom. Again, it’s hard to explain.
H hasn’t been a kid for a long while, but now he’s not even my #manchild anymore. He’s a young man. One who still calls me to ask how to make a doctor’s appointment or to remind him of his social security number, but a young man all the same. A grown up.
I know having your kids grow up and move on is the ultimate goal of parenting, but no one tells you them having their own kitchen makes it feel oh so real … Or that it stings just a little bit more than you expected.
Have a great senior year, H. I know you’ll do great things.
—LJDT
