Life is a series of passages and seasons; for some parents of newly graduated high schoolers, mid-July means that in a few weeks, they will be sending a child off to college. Even though Larry and I are safely past this stage, I get a lump in my throat just saying those words. When you are facing a challenging upcoming event, friends will sometimes encourage with words like, "the anticipation is the worst part; going through it won't be so bad." I am a pragmatic realist, and I am here to tell you that sending a child off to college is even worse than the anticipation! 

 I should qualify that pronouncement by admitting I do not handle "goodbyes" well; I never have. I am generally mind-over-matter and in charge of my emotions. My daughter, Lauren, once described our family this way: the women are steely and the men are kindhearted. Her description is valid except for leave-taking. There is something about bidding dear loved ones farewell, that makes me come unglued. As an eleven year old, I remember our family visiting my sister, Sharon, and our beloved toddler nephew, Shawn, in South Carolina. When it was time to drive back home to Ohio, I hid in the bathroom while the rest of the family loaded into the blue Malibu. At the last moment, I ran out and jumped into the car, hoping no one would notice that I was sobbing. As Larry and my kids can attest, I still struggle to control my emotions when we say "goodbye". 

Not all high schoolers go to college, and not all go to institutions far away. Somehow I knew this would not be our paradigm. Larry and I are both fiercely independent, and wanted to chart our own course; why should the apples fall far from the tree? I've always accepted that my kids probably won't live near me. Conscious in my mind, even when they were young, was my parenting goal: to raise them to become independent, capable adults, to fly from the nest someday with strong wings and a sense of purpose, and the ability to handle life's storms. 

When college conversations commenced with our firstborn, Chris yearned for a strong academic school with high level DIII tennis, that was far away from Chattanooga. Middlebury College in Vermont, fit the bill nicely and we were all proud for him upon his acceptance. I mentally reassured myself with the knowledge that Delta did a daily direct flight from Atlanta to Burlington. "We can be just one plane flight away." Of course that direct flight was gone by August, when it was time to make the trek. Larry and I devised a plan to get Chris and his stuff from Chattanooga to Middlebury. Chris and I would fly up a few days before freshman orientation. We would rent a car and purchase the things he would need for his dorm room. Larry would not come along, but rather, we would both fly up to Vermont in October, over Middlebury family weekend. 

As the departure day grew near, a dread enveloped me. I worried about a lot of things, but at the core, was the realization that I was losing control. I could no longer micromanage my son, a terrifying thought, since adolescent males can sometimes just be stupid. (This quality is not totally gender specific, but in my opinion, seems to be weighted slightly more heavily towards the males). We were flying out early on a Saturday afternoon. That morning, I took my dogs for a very long walk, to help keep my focus off the inevitable.  As I came in the driveway, there was Chris, shooting hoops by the garage. Choking back tears, I wondered when I would see him do that again. When the firstborn leaves, it feels like the unbroken family circle is splintering. 

Quite by accident, I came up with a plan to distract myself. My front porch is roofed over and has no sunlight, so no plants will grow in the tall, brown, cast iron planters that flank the door. I have fake boxwoods in them; the bottom part that sits inside the planter is actually styrofoam. As I walked onto the porch, I saw several bees coming up out of one planter. Curious, I lifted the fake plant out. The bottom styrofoam had become a home to dozens of bees and they swarmed me, stinging wherever they could. I ran yelling through the yard, ripping off my T-shirt to extricate those that had already found lodging there. I ended up with over a dozen bee stings, which certainly kept me distracted on the flights to Vermont, and even the next day, when the stings started to itch. 

It took us one morning to buy the items for Chris's dorm. What eighteen year old boy wants to hang out with his mom in rural Vermont for several days, waiting for freshman orientation?! Mental note taken; the best plan is a quick one. Lingering is bad. We finally got Chris moved into his dorm room, met his roommate, Peter, a basketball player, whose size 13 sneakers filled all the floor space under his bed. Two days later, and a few parent orientation sessions under my belt, ("blah blah blah blah blah"- all you are really thinking about is how are you going to leave your kid here and return home alone?), and it was time to go. Everything was such a shock to my system, not the least of which was discovering that each floor, being coed, voted whether or not to make the bathrooms coed. 

Leaving feels like you've severed your arm and are just leaving it lying out on the field. I hugged Chris and tried to say something, but the lump in my throat was so big, I could scarcely breathe, much less speak. He told me he loved me and I turned and willed my feet to keep moving, all the way across campus to my rental car. I made it inside before I started audibly sobbing. It was some time before I lifted my head from the steering wheel and drove to the Burlington airport. Nothing really prepares you for this moment. I have no earthly idea how a single parent handles leaving a child a college; my hat is off to you. It must feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders alone. Lesson learned the hard way: always bring along your spouse or a friend. At least you can cry together. 

Two years later, we repeated the process. It was no easier, but different, in the way that our kids' personalities are all unique. Independent Lauren was ready to leave, long before Wheaton's freshman orientation. During her senior year, we visited many colleges, but this one seemed to be the right fit. It too, was academically challenging, had a solid Christian base, and Lauren decided that she wanted to play college tennis after all. And Chicago was a long way from home: it was a ten hour drive. After high school, Lauren spent a month in Colorado, working at a Young Life Camp. She also signed up for an early week of freshman acclamation, at Honey Rock, Wheaton's rural campus extension in Wisconsin. She flitted about, visiting friends, until 10 pm, the night before she flew to Chicago, when she packed up her stuff. 

The plan was for two parents to drive her things to Wheaton (we learned the last time!), arriving just as she was returning from her week at Honey Rock.  I don't know how to say this delicately, but Lauren had a LOT of stuff to take to college: a whole Toyota Sequoia full of it.

Being dutiful parents, we drove all of this precious cargo to Wheaton, and managed to connect with Lauren as she returned from the camp in the woods. We were so excited to see her and to hear about the new kids she had met. We drove across campus, with words spilling over each other like waterfalls. Suddenly Lauren yelled, "there's so-and-so (sorry, I don't remember that unforgettable friend), my new friend from Honey Rock." We stopped the vehicle, Lauren hopped out, with an "I'll meet up with you all later," as the car door slammed shut. Lauren was more than ready for college life. 

We spent a day hauling all that stuff from the parking lot to the fifth floor of Fischer Hall, along side many other parents. We met Lauren's suite mates, Mandy, Emilee, and Andrea, and then spent several hours arranging her room and hanging her monogrammed gifts on the walls. (I feel quite certain they came down shortly after our departure. Nothing says "southern" like monogrammed picture frames). We were smart enough this time, to bi-pass most of the parent orientation meetings, and rather, spend the time taking Lauren to lunch, and familiarizing ourselves with the campus, so we could picture the lay of the land when we talked to her later. We also met the tennis team and Coach Jane.

There was no lingering though, as I had learned from my previous experience. We arrived on Thursday afternoon, and forty-eight hours later, it was time to say our goodbyes. Having done this once before and knowing how independent Lauren was, I naively thought this would be easier than the last time. I think its the realization that once they leave for college, a permanent change occurs. Yes, they may return for the summer, but having been self determinate for all those months, they will never need you in quite the same way again. Your little girl has grown up and is flying from the nest. It is a dagger in the heart, mixed with pride and anticipation for the wonderful woman that she will become. It is an unprecedented amalgamation of emotions. 

As we said our last farewells, I felt that familiar choking feeling in my throat, and was too overcome with emotion to say much. Lauren, however, had thought of all the things that she wanted to say to us, and handed Larry and I each a letter as we hugged her goodbye in her dorm room. We staggered downstairs, blinded by tears, and helped each other to the car. Larry was sweet to just let me sob as we drove toward Chicago and then headed south on the tollway. Leaving a child at college is a unique right of passage, that leaves you emotionally ransacked. When I finally found my voice, I read Lauren's letters out loud. 

Two years later, it was time for the baby of the family to head to college. Senior year, we visited other colleges, but Derek chose to follow his sister to Wheaton. We were thrilled for him, and the adventures and challenges ahead, but also felt a sense of relief, knowing that Lauren was nearby, in case of an emergency. I think we felt less anxiety over the process because Wheaton was a known entity; there was just such bittersweet sadness at the thought of Derek leaving. He was the youngest, the peacemaker in the family, always bringing his friends around and filling the house with laughter and music. It was very special to us to be able to give Derek our undivided attention for his last two years at home. Each birth order place has its own pros and cons, but being the youngest often means being overshadowed by older siblings. 

When it was Derek's turn, not only would we be leaving a child at college, we would officially be empty nesters. Several weeks before D-Day, I found an empty bird's nest, nestled in the vines of our grape arbor; I took it as a sign. 

For some of Derek's friends, our house was like their second home. Every Wednesday evening I hosted the church youth guys for dinner and a Bible study. They would spill into the kitchen at 6:30 pm, squeeze their sweaty bodies around the kitchen table, and devour anything that I cooked. The way they bragged about the Hawaiian dinner rolls, purchased at Costco in packages of 24, you would have thought that I was a domestic goddess. I loved having Derek and these guys around for one last year of boyhood. I could only imagine how silent the walls would be the next year. 

Derek also brought music to our home. When he would come home from school, he would drop  his back pack and head right to the piano. When your kids leave, its those simple routines that you miss the most. Several weeks before he left for Wheaton, I recorded Derek and three friends in an impromptu band in our basement. I wanted to savor every moment, knowing that very soon, it would be the sound of silence. 

Once again, Larry and I planned to drive a child to Wheaton College. We were up early that morning, wanting to be on the road by 6:30am. Suddenly we heard the piano, playing a familiar tune. We went downstairs to find Derek, sitting at the piano. He said that he had hardly slept all night. He laid awake thinking about his childhood, how wonderful it was, and how it felt like today, his childhood was going away. We all shed a few tears at the piano before we steered the car north toward Interstate 65. How we would miss that boy and his music!

Being pros now, at taking children to college, we skipped all the parent orientation, unloaded Derek's stuff, and took him and his new roommate, Chris, to lunch. Sunday came too soon; we were going to church with Lauren and Derek, at Church of the Beloved, in downtown Chicago, before we headed for home. We all went to lunch, but I could barely eat and choked up every time I looked at Derek. It would be so difficult to say goodbye to our youngest. It also meant that a large part of my mothering role was finished: a door closed, a page completed, a song sung.

We said our farewells in a Chicago parking garage. Derek was leaving with Lauren to drive back to Wheaton and Larry and I were headed back home to the south. Derek had the decency to cry too, as we parted ways. I am teary-eyed just remembering. I guess hard goodbyes are a good thing; maybe they are signs of strong bonds and attachment. My heart aches for all you parents preparing to send your precious kids off to college. If it is any encouragement, we have survived, and after a few lonely weeks, we have discovered that we like being just the two of us again (but please don't tell our children)!