Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
I know I’ve mentioned that August is not my favorite month. (The redeeming factor about August is that August 22 is my daughter’s birthday, which helps, even though she lives about a million miles away from me.) When August 1 rolled around this year, I gritted my teeth, plastered on a smile, and said, “I LOVE August! It’s going to be a fantastic month!” I must admit, the power of positive thinking has worked pretty well—until recently. I think I figured out what has been causing my malaise over August all these years . . . . and it’s all because of . . .
Those pictures of kids going off to college for the first time!
I’ve been seeing my friends’ posts of taking their recently high-school-graduated kids off to college. There they are, in their neat little dorm room, with freshly made-up beds and decorations on the walls. There are no empty pizza boxes strewn about yet and no dirty clothes all over the floor. There’s that sparkly clean college freshman standing by his or her bed, grinning from ear to ear. There’s another of them hugging mom or dad as mom (or dad) tries to hold it together. With every picture I see, I have one more phantom pain that strikes me somewhere in my body, usually in the area of my heart. I had three “bring kids to college for the first time” experiences and ten other “subsequent” years of seeing them off to another year. I think if I were to describe how it feels to send your kid off to college in one word, that word would be—aaaaauuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhhhh. (Do you sort of see “August” in there?)
The first time I went through this awful process was in August of 2005. Maria was going to Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD), about six hours away from home. She had been to a summer program the summer before her senior year of high school and loved it. She actually cried when we brought her back home after that session; she loved it that much. But let me tell you about the process of learning who her roommate for her first year would be . . . if I can type this without having a nervous breakdown.
After filling out scads (pun intended) of paperwork listing her likes/dislikes to (hopefully) get a roommate that would be a good “match,” one day, she received word about who her roommate would be.
Holy Horror Show.
So, her roommate was a transfer student and was 23 years old. (That sounds ancient when your daughter just turned 18.) I don’t remember what info we got from SCAD, but hey, this is the age of the internet, so let’s go check her out on Facebook!
It turns out she loved horror of all kinds and varieties—horror movies, horror books, horror apparel, horror EVERYTHING. Can I say that Kevin and I were horrified looking at her Facebook profile? (OK, if you are a horror fan, that’s totally fine. It’s just that it was my innocent “little girl” going off to live in a small room with the likes of The Bride of Chucky.)
Kevin called the school to inquire about the match-up with our daughter and Chucky’s bride. He asked how on earth these two could possibly have been matched up as roommates. Do you know what the answer was? “Well, sir, according to the information I can see here, they both said they go to bed at about the same time.”
That’s it?? They have the same relative bedtime??
Maria insisted that it would be fine. She did not want us to try to switch anything around. She’d deal with whatever came her way, and we didn’t need to take any further action. Darn her independence and maturity!!
Kevin was traveling when it came time to bring her to school, so it was up to me. (This turned out to be a good thing because I could blubber all I wanted without driving him nuts.) We arrived at her room before her roommate. Maria chose the bed by the window, and we began to set up her room—a new cute, flowery comforter, pictures of her friends, and a plastic storage bin that she had painted with flowers to look pretty. Bible verses here and Bible verses there. Here a verse, there a verse, Everywhere a Bible verse.
And then—she came. The roommate. (I really should give her a name, but not her real name. I’m going to call her Hazel.)
Hazel was with her mom as well, but mom wasn’t there much. After all, Hazel was 23, a woman of the world. What did she need her mom hanging around for? Hazel was nice enough; she did not attempt to murder us at first sight, which was a relief. But as she began to decorate her half of the room, it almost became comical. (It’s funny now, not so much 19 years ago.)
Everything was black. Her comforter, her clothes, the mood in the room. The crème de la crème was when she hung a giant neon sign above her bed: a flickering “Bate’s Motel” sign.
How was I going to leave my daughter here? How was I going to leave my daughter here??
I had a hotel room in town for that night, and Maria and I went out for one last dinner together. Can a person actually swallow food while she is sobbing her heart out? I wondered.
Maria stayed with me in that hotel room that night. One last night, all to myself. I can still recall laying on the bed watching TV, Maria laying so her head was on my shoulder, my arm around her . . . one more time. As we lay there like that, I was thinking to myself, Did I teach her everything I needed to teach her? I’m sure I forgot so much! I can’t let her go yet! I’m sure I need to tell her more! But I couldn’t get any words out. It might have been the first time I felt like I couldn’t even talk.
And the next day, I took her to her dorm, dropped her off in the parking lot, and drove away. I can still see exactly what she looked like when I left her, waving at me. I had to stop at least three times on the drive home to rinse off my contacts because they were so clouded from my tears.
Well, isn’t this just an encouraging note?? Sorry! I guess I’m just saying that I think this time of year always reminds me of those “kid leaving the nest” moments. Moments I thought I’d never recover from. I was sure I’d have a hole in my heart for the rest of my days, but here I am . . . fully recovered! And now, instead of living six hours away by car, she’s about that far away via plane! I didn’t even tell you about bringing my other two off to school. My heart can only take so much.
If you find yourself with a hole in your heart for some reason today, first of all, I feel for you. What I needed to do was just let myself feel all the feelings. I couldn’t “pull myself up by my bootstraps” and “get on with it.” But if that works for you, do it! Personally, I have to wallow, and then I can move on.
I’m not bringing any kids to college anymore, but I can still get that “aaaaauuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhhhh” feeling every now and then. I always know that it will pass, though. Sometimes, it hangs around for half a day, sometimes longer, but never forever.
I hope this week brings you much more “better” than “bitter.”
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
Praying this Irish Blessing for all of our recent “go off to school”ers – – –
“May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”