FRESHMAN MOM

For some reason the blog I wrote on the Huffington Post last month titled 127 DAYS TO LET GO got more feedback than any of my others. I clearly struck a chord with moms who are grappling with the difficult task of sending their well, for lack of better word babies off to college for the first time.

I had moms who called me crying from work; moms who emailed they read it to their kids and broke down, moms who had kids who had left years before who cried reliving it. 

So I have decided despite the fact I have been adamant about not writing a blog – I am going to blog the next ten months of what it’s like for me to see my first child leave the nest and how well I am able to let go.  I made a film LUCKY DUCKS about the first part of it, so this seems like the natural follow up. Besides I can’t afford to make another film now! 

I’ve learned by talking about it – I ‘m not alone.  For most women it seems to be one of the hardest things they go though in life-saying good-bye in one form to these little creatures you have nurtured and loved. Forget the fact you have threatened to send them away a hundred times since they turned thirteen, when the moment comes your emotional roof caves in. I was talking to a friend yesterday who told me that when her daughter would come home on weekends, she would start crying Sunday mornings in anticipation of her returning school that evening.  Another mom I barely know recounted a stab in her heart starting Christmas Day anticipation of her son returning to school after break. A really strong Dad told me he was a puddle in front of NYU as his oldest disappeared into her dorm. Moms have told me about taking to their beds and crying for weeks, others still cry when they think about it. Perhaps I have very emotionally unstable friends or perhaps like attracts like and there are moms and dads all over America who wave good-bye, go back home climb on the tractor and plow the field understanding the cycle of life better than my group.  One crop has to be harvested for another to grow. That makes no sense to me, I was searching for a metaphor and that is the best I could come up with. Kids are not crops, they are like apples they grow one at time and sometimes they fall too soon and sometimes the birds get to them before you do and sometimes they sit in a bowl and rot. Sometimes you get one – I have two, one still growing on the tree, but my first apple all ripe and ready for the truck to take her to town. Or is she? I don’t like that metahor either. They are not crops or fruits or aliens they are are your flesh and blood embedded in your heart like nothing else and they have been part of your daily life for close to two decades. You have worried about everything from are they getting enough vitamin C to AIDS. You have stayed up all night when they were sick and stayed up all night while they partied and refused to respond to your texts.  And now that is coming to an end.  And despite the fact they need to move on – it SUCKS.

I have been aware of the fragility of life since I was a child myself. I keep all my memories in tangible form,  keys to every hotel room I’ve stayed in, each tooth lost, first hair lock cut, every recital program, ticket stubs, even the uniform skirt she wore for twelve years, all our memories carefully arranged in order and tucked away. 
I have also known for years this day would come. I think the day I brought her home from the hospital I did a mental dry run of the day she would leave for college. I have kissed her good-night every night even on nights when I was so mad at  her  – well – I can’t even tell you what my thoughts might have been, but my heart won out and the voice of life’s fleetingness always yelled to me  as I slammed my bedroom door – SHE WON’T BE HERE FOREVER KISS HER EVERY NIGHT YOU CAN AS ONE DAY BEFORE YOU KNOW IT SHE WON’T BE THERE TO KISS.

That is the way I look at life – not always easy and not very Eckert Tolle, but it’s me. So now here I am the little girl I had dreamt of having since I was four years old, the little girl I have kissed good-night every night for eighteen years, sent to school each day, and whose phone I have shut off at least eighty times – ask T MOBILE, is leaving home in six weeks.
Many of you are going through the same thing, perhaps this will make you feel less alone, and we can laugh and cry together.  But if I deal with the world though words I can make sense of it, I want to be strong for her as she is going through as many if not more changes than I am. It’s a hard time for all those involved, but blessedly I am able to find the humor in most things.

Please comment if you like, share your stories – because it’s not easy being a FRESHMAN MOM or DAD.

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