They separated us moments after we arrived. Just prior, with a name tag and timid smile, standing in the foyer of a Spanish mission-styled building in the center of one of the top-rated most beautiful campuses in the States, neither of us knew a soul in the elbow-to-elbow standing space. My daughter always had a knack for braving situations where she knew no one, but this time was different. As her mom, I knew the worry and anxiety apparent in her facial expression, although she attempted to make none the wiser. In her defense, she was not alone in a fear that for many, only had a cognizant memory that dated back to nearly 12 years prior and was happening again.

Kindergarten drop-off was harder for some than others. For my daughter, it was the third day of school that presented itself with her screaming/pleading for me to not leave her in the classroom. Less than a week prior we had just moved to Brisbane, Australia from Portland, Oregon and she was one of many expats, yet the only American, amongst a room full of five-year-old Aussies. With her arms outstretched and tears streaming down her face as the teacher comforted her, I waved goodbye, blowing her kisses as I backed out of the classroom. Like many moms, as soon as I turned the corner with slumped shoulders, I held back tears until I was given non-verbal permission from other mums to unleash my sadness over a full day away from my toddler. I was not alone. At the end of the day, she was fine, I was fine, everyone was fine. It was a milestone, and one I’ve yet to forget, in addition to being character building for all involved.

   My daughter with her Australian kindergarten teacher

Fast forward nearly a dozen years later and my daughter is in the thick of her college search, and arguably the roles have reversed. “Parents, please proceed to the auditorium. Students, follow us for your campus tour,” bellowed someone from the admissions office. My heart ached to see a subtle panic surface as she attempted to find someone with whom she could connect in the sea of seniors on the cusp of graduating high school. As I motioned towards my designated area, I looked back and with a smile across her face, she was happily engaged in conversation with another student. Relieved, it seemed as though the tables had turned and suddenly, I felt like reaching my arms out to her, pleading for her not to go. I can only imagine the stinging pain that will wash over us in the late summer/ early fall, when we say our goodbyes as we bring her to the university where she decides to pursue her studies.

Hours later, after I spent the morning listening to the university president and multiple panels of faculty and alum, I gulped back emotions in disbelief that I was on a college visit for my oldest child. The financial presentation also prompted tears; seeing the cost of tuition on a screen on such a grandiose scale is not for the faint of heart – somehow the number feels that much bigger when shown in that size font. As my morning came to a close, I walked across their campus to meet my daughter and reminisced of a time that felt like just yesterday, when I was walking from class to class, following my dreams, and the world was my oyster. My husband and I met at the University of Oregon, 23 years ago. We both share warm memories of that time in our lives but remain in disbelief our daughter is about to venture on her own college journey, partially because I still feel like I’m 20. I stood on this southern California campus, entirely different from Oregon’s, as I eagerly waited for my daughter’s recount of her visit. With a jovial demeanor, she was excited about the classes she sat in on, the dorm room she noted was quite small, and all the other aspects that make adults who are ten years into their grown-up career, want to go back to college.

 

 

As she prepares to launch from the nest, she is experiencing expected nerves; however, the elation overrides any anxiety. She talks about studying abroad in Italy, diving deeper into her favorite subjects, meeting professors, apartment life, roommates, and there are plenty of questions in between as she deciphers what life will be like outside our home. It’s nothing but a feeling of the world being at her feet. My husband and I, with our son, are also navigating an onset of emotions as we attempt to comprehend a world without our constant foursome. Contrary to our daughter, we are the ones not ready to say our goodbyes. As we face the looming day of her departure, each moment is cherished more than ever before. While my son will still be home for another few years, we are nevertheless approaching the end of an era.

I made the decision to stay at home with my kids when my daughter was born. Other than occasional part time work in education and freelance writing, I’ve primarily been a stay-at-home mom and feel as though this next chapter is in a sense, forced retirement, while still needing to start a new career. There is of course excitement for the world that she’s about to enter, and one to which she’s worked so hard to aspire, but her taste of freedom from the college tour left me with a heavy dose of selfish heartache.

God blessed me with these years at home with both my kids. Each stage of parenting presented highs and lows, various challenges, but I would say as we fast approach the end of her senior year and all embark on this new chapter, this is the hardest. I poured the last 18 years in building, strengthening, and nourishing a family bond that I pray continues well beyond when both our children are on their own. Proverbs 22:6 states, “Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it.” This bible verse resonates with me now more than ever and while this message was not on the forefront of my mind as I tackled each and everyday of parenting, the sentiment was lived out in every conversation, reprimand, hug, joyful moment, and meal prepared and shared. Parenting is truly the embodiment of the most blissful, but simultaneously arduous moments I’ve lived and this next step of launching our baby girl seems to be the penultimate of the latter.