There’s a stillness, a kind of melancholy emptiness, that envelops me as I enter the house. I’m used to hearing singing and some level of activity from my daughter. She moved to the lower level of our home during her senior year of high school for what I believe was her attempt at parental separation and independence in advance of leaving for college. This is the area where I enter our home having parked in the garage. My wife and I have just returned from moving her into a university dorm to start the first year of what I hope will be a positive, memorable four-year journey of self-discovery and academic growth.
As is the case with most parents whose child(ren) – she is our only – plans for college the senior year of high school is very busy. For the student it’s not an easy street coast to the finish line, especially if one is at a competitive high school. There’s the need to show consistency of merit, AP courses, college application essays (thankfully there is a common app; very different than my world back in the day) and the anxiety of acceptance into a school of one’s choice. For my child, after visiting more than a half dozen schools between Boston, NYC and Washington, DC she was accepted into her first choice. Parents wrestle with the FAFSA, financing and managing expectations. Still, when there’s alignment with a next step to a destination the trip seems far off. Some students such as ours heard early of her acceptance; others much later, uncertainty raising the peer group anxiety level a bit.
There’s a change in cadence as the spring semester of high school draws to a close. Graduation is the punctuation mark of a long secondary school sentence. Still, the start of summer doesn’t truly capitalize the beginning of the next paragraph slated to begin with the college move-in trip. While anticipation is underscored with excitement by one or both parents and child, there exists the pleasant distractions of summer’s longer days. However, little by little we accumulate all the items needed, or so we thought, in preparation for the move to college. With each walk past a growing pile of bags and boxes from Amazon, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Wal-Mart and a bevy of other retailers they collectively serve as a reminder of what’s to come; ready or not.
In our case her school was in reasonable driving distance. After seven hours in a rented mini-van (like I said there was a lot of stuff) my back might not agree with reasonable. High school friends and parents prepare for more profound move-in trips ranging from campuses in Europe to the coasts of the Gulf and to the far west. The good-byes among these close high school classmates are tinged with the first inklings of separation anxiety. It’s likely Snapchat, Facetime and Instagram will continue to be their long-distance connection and ours until reunited again during the year-end holidays.
Her school, really the block in which the dorm is located, is organized move-in chaos when we arrive. Thankfully, there’s a ready, willing and able contingent of undergraduate worker bees and residential advisors to help unload a rotating group of cars, SUV’s, vans and trailers. Getting all her dorm life material into the room was a far less daunting task than the actual unpacking, building (think Ikea) and cleaning required to get truly settled.
She shares what is referred to in NYC parlance as a pre-war building living space with three other young ladies; a quad. Each of these students have been in touch with one another via social media and their new university e-mail. Parents are introduced, unpacking help proffered and I along with a few other Dads are ushered out – time for a much-needed lunch break – to let the Moms coordinate the home stretch details.
There’s a peace, of sorts, that settles over the room once ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’ is achieved. We know it’s time to say good-bye. Our parenting and our child’s hard work has gotten us as a family to this point. There’s a lot of satisfaction in this. However, a deep well of emotion exists just below the surface that’s ready to percolate as tears. My voice cracks with emotion; a last kiss and hug until visiting again in a couple of months for parent’s weekend. Characterizing this feeling as sadness isn’t accurate. It’s simply a limitless love for a child that’s well-prepared to launch into a new and independent phase of her life.
For the student it’s an adventure; decision-making that she must own. As a parent, it’s a hope that her time in college will be as rewarding and self-defining for her as mine was for me. Too, it’s a sigh of resignation that this young lady who still needs me just doesn’t quite need me as much or in the same way as when she was younger. She knows that both her parents will be always be there for her to the best of our ability. However, there remains a stillness, a kind of melancholy emptiness, that envelops me as I enter the house. It’s going to take time for this to pass. Then, as parents in a home too large for three, never mind for two, in a town too expensive with no other children of our own matriculating in our excellent public schools, we can have a conversation about down-sizing. Meanwhile, I so look forward to parent’s weekend.