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A Flash Of Anguish

 

When my first child was born, the days stretched out before us, interrupted only by nap time. Fast forward to the ramp up for college and every moment was consumed by preparations: the studying, the volunteering, the stressing. It all culminated in one momentous drop off. But what came afterwards was a little mysterious. I mean, I’ve had people I care about disappear from my everyday life, but zero of them left under happy circumstances. And none of them were my own kid.

To me, summer camp didn’t serve as a useful simulation, although I hear it does prepare the kids. We parents are all so different that the ‘first kid to leave for college’ experience doesn’t have the same impact across the board, but I’ve been open to pointers.

Usually, I turn to books and experts when I find myself in new territory. Whole forests have been flattened to supply the pages of parenting books. So what did I find for this stage? In the words of my nana, bupkis. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough, but the only two books on this topic were one from 1999 that reviewers criticized as outdated. The other was Christian faith-based which is fine but if I hadn’t asked myself what Jesus would do about my problems until now, I wasn’t about to start.*

So, I went old school and relied on the advice of smart friends.

 

“Whatever you do, don’t go in her room when you get home. Trust me on this.” -Ingrid

I noticed her door ajar from down the hall and asked her dad about it. I know her brothers didn’t open it because they’d been threatened with bodily harm.

“I wanted to see her room,” he said.

“She told me she wants the door closed.” She did say that, but I didn’t walk backwards down the hall and reach behind me for the handle to close it necessarily for her. (This photo was taken years ago btw.)

“It will hit you in unexpected moments. Like when you find yourself ordering one pound of turkey breast instead of two, because she’s not there to eat half.” -Odette

I didn’t remember the grocery store thing until I stood in front of a display of pickles, Jane’s latest obsession. A sob rose in my chest. The muffled effect of my mask and the covid disguise provided good cover. I let it out and it passed. I have never experienced such intense moments of sadness only to have them depart in the next minute. Like I could totally wail like a baby and then just stop. It’s truly bizarre.

After the flash of anguish I smiled, reflecting on the pediatrician’s advice to use more salt after she’d had a bout of fainting. He added that she shouldn’t skip meals and recommended an earlier bedtime. From then on at dinner, she reached for the salt before she’d even tasted her food. “Doctor’s orders,” she’d chirp, with no acknowledgment that this was the one piece of Dr. Floyd’s advice she ever followed.

“When I set the table and it’s only the three of us—that’s when I miss her.” -Rosana

 

Our set up is weird now because we have a narrow, six person table. When it was our full family of five, the vacancy had provided a spot for guests or a place for serving dishes. We now have a sitcom arrangement so the studio audience can enjoy an unobstructed view. I am going to suggest we do a four top in the center. This configuration bums me out. We need to make eye contact with each other for Pete’s sake, especially now that one of us won’t be showing up.

I wondered what other intel I could gather by word of mouth that would help with this experience. Another wise friend had recommended the parents’ Facebook group for my daughter’s university. I thought about that, but I didn’t do it. I tend to feel like an outsider around that level of parent involvement.

 

Most of the time, I have wondered if I’ve provided my daughter enough support while she grew up. Due to how I was raised, I bucked the trend of over-involvement. At the age of ten, I walked a good ways to the city bus to get to school each day. At dismissal, I roamed through downtown which worked out fine, minus the time my six grade friends and I were flashed by a guy in a trench coat. Not great, but also a reality for women and girls no matter where you are.  I worked food service jobs throughout high school, paying for most of what I needed myself. At seventeen, I became financially independent, paid my way through college, grad and law school, taking out the minimum student loans. Sometimes I held down multiple jobs while I studied. On occasion, this caused paralyzing stress which I would never wish on anyone. I think the angst was more a function of missing the emotional support than the financial, however. That aside, I became a woman who had proof she could handle anything.

 

During her childhood, I felt like I had to manufacture experiences to foster independence. Given the hovery state of modern parenting, it’s more the norm to infantilize our kids. Jane reported that many of her college-bound friends don’t know how to gas up their own cars, that the parents do it for them. I wanted her to gain competence handling her own problems. I sent her on elementary school trips I didn’t chaperone to deal with her nut allergies herself, with an Epipen. It was a little scary but necessary. She had to be vigilant about what she ate and the only way to do that was to understand it is her responsibility alone. Despite my attempts, well-meaning parents stepped in and informed restaurant staff for her, robbing her of the chance to take charge. Of course I am grateful for any kindness shown to my child, but still. Everything takes practice. As a teen, she has traveled domestically and internationally on her own, even to pistachio and cashew-loving Israel. I know she understands that her own choices, not mine, dictate her health and safety. And she is prepared for any contingency.

I recall my former therapist mentioning how many kids of clients came for a session during college when they should have been away at school.

“They are depressed because they can’t manage life on their own. The parents have been handling everything and once they were left in charge, the life skills weren’t there. They have no agency. They are like feral cats, not responsible to anyone or even to themselves.”

My kids’ piano teacher said the same thing. He was having to make room in his schedule for students who’d left for their first year of college and returned home after a few months.

Since my kid decided to go to school 2,376 miles away, I know she feels ready for everyday life without her family. I only hope I have shown her the love she needed as well as the opportunities to grow.

In the week before she left, I completely abandoned my “do it yourself” attitude. A little rash you say? Let me text my dermatologist friend and ask her to squeeze you in RIGHT NOW so my precious baby girl doesn’t have to make her own appointment or wait even one day. You don’t love your highlights? How about I pull some strings with a master colorist to create the blond halo of your dreams.Want to binge watch a show even though I have a sh!t ton of work to do? Sure! Anything for you, kiddo. All the things I’d usually say, do it yourself, pay for it yourself, handle it yourself, I did it.

I have to say, it was a delight to finally be that parent!!! I got to dote on my girl ’til my heart’s content. Maybe this is what grand parenting will be like. (Not that I intend to find out for MANY YEARS.) You just shower them with everything, caring not one whit about what they are learning of the world. It’s the best.

So, now I understand that sometimes parents do all the things because THEY LOVE THEIR KIDS SO MUCH. I finally have some empathy around that. I’m sorry I judged you, hoverers. I was one of you for like two weeks. It was really fun but now I have two boys I gotta put through the school of hard knocks. It will be a different kind of challenge now that I’ve learned so much from my first guinea pig. (Sorry Jane, along with all the attention you get as the first kid comes the unenviable task of breaking in rookies.)

When you finally let go of all the parenting angst and self-judgment for not doing right by your kid and just love them up before they fly the coop, you get the sense that it’s all going to be okay.

Love,

Elizabeth