In a few weeks
my youngest son moves into a dorm at the University of Nebraska at Kearney,
which is two minutes away from our house. The way I’ve been carrying on you’d
think he was headed for a college campus thousands of miles away.
I’ve spent a
lot of time this summer pondering why I could have been so stoic when my older
son left home at 16 to be a foreign exchange student in Germany – and never
looked back. He now resides in Seoul, South Korea.
Thanks to my
mom, some good friends (thank you Susan and Karin) and years of lecturing
parents of incoming freshmen on ‘holding on and letting go’ in a previous life
as a college adviser at a big university back east, I know the answer: It’s the
end of an era.
The empty nest
is truly upon me. No turning back to the days of field trips to the
pumpkin patch and parent-teacher conferences.
As
I was writing the above several days ago, my husband passed on e-mail about the
move-in schedule for my son’s newly refurbished dormitory. With each stroke of the keyboard, I was
wracked with guilt for feeling sad when other parents have to let go in much
more permanent ways.
Last
week a 12-year-old boy from this closely knit community died in an accident a
few towns away while visiting relatives. He and his parents attended/attend the
same large church my family does, and his older brother was in my cohort of
confirmation kids, although not in my small group.
The
morning of his funeral, despite the good advice of my mom and my wonderful
friend Karin, I went to the standing-room only service. I sought Karin’s advice
because this extraordinary mom of a
teenage daughter eloquently and tenderly chronicled in her newspaper column the
death of her other daughter several years ago--as a baby to a rare disease.
Through
the plate glass windows behind where I sat, in the overflow seating in the
narthex, I watched the sky cloud over and raindrops spatter the glass. I
listened intently as our insightful minister told those assembled that “twelve-year-olds
are not supposed to die” and exhorted the congregation to celebrate the
deceased boy’s life. Pastor Gary read letters from the late boy’s teachers
extolling his heart and kindness. He said not to seek answers where none are
available, instead to celebrate this boy’s life – a kid who chose to be an
organ donor in his young years.
In the overflow section, I sat by a display
board extolling the boy’s elementary and middle school accomplishments. I
couldn’t stop looking at the smiling pictures and the certificates honoring his
exemplary achievements. Just a couple months ago, my own graduating high
schooler and his friends had similar boards on display at their
graduation parties. I likened the round of celebrations to cotillion season in
the long-ago south. It was such a joyous time.
That
rainy morning was saturated with sadness.
As
the video montage of pictures of the deceased boy and his family played, I wept
as did everyone else. Again, recently I’d sat in that same church with my
youngest son and husband and other families at a luncheon honoring high school
seniors.
I
had trouble sleeping the rest of the week.
This
weekend at Sunday brunch conversation at our house turned to college move-in
day and activities for incoming freshmen, as well as packing and shopping. My
youngest son’s enthusiasm was contagious.
I’m
done mourning the end of one era and am ready to embrace the knowledge my
youngest child is moving on to a new phase of his life.
Because
somewhere another mother’s child is not.
I
have to let go--but in a way that makes me want to fall on my knees and be
grateful for the opportunity.
