By Wendi Aarons
What nobody tells you about your nest emptying is how long it takes for the nest to actually empty. Birds just shove their little fledglings out of their branch-and-stick beds whenever they think the time has come for them to fly, hoping their wings work. Humans, not so much.
I spent months “helping” my oldest son Sam apply to colleges. Most of it was in the form of nagging, which happens to be one of my best soft skills, but it was still a hassle. As anyone with a teenager knows, getting into college now isn’t as simple as it used to be. I’m pretty sure that in 1986 I just mailed a postcard to University of Oregon that said, “I want in, thanks. Duran Duran rules!” Now kids have to write a resume detailing all of the nonprofit foundations they started and essays detailing the many kidneys they donated, and answer questions like “How will you change the trajectory of the entire planet and also humankind with your accounting degree?” There’s no shortage of college services, counselors, and experts you can throw money at to supposedly make the process easier, but here’s the thing: It’s never easy.
But we somehow managed to get his applications in by the various schools’ deadlines, and then, after a few nail-biting weeks, the acceptances and rejections rolled in like a traveling circus. Like most kids, he had highs and lows and a few “how didn’t I get in but (insert name of hated classmate) did?” frustrations, but ultimately he had some great options. None of them were all-expenses-paid options, but good options nonetheless.
That spring, Sam graduated from high school (via Zoom, because he was part of the fun pandemic class of 2020) and then finally made his decision on where he wanted to spend the next four years. We were all happy to hear that it wasn’t going to be his bedroom because by then, after a lot of family quarantining, I was ready to turn it into a meditation room with a wet bar and maybe a sensory deprivation tank or two.
Part one of the empty-nesting process done, we moved on to part two: the Readying of the Empty Nest, AKA Preparing for Liftoff.
Many pregnant women, myself included, go through a period called “nesting” as the baby’s arrival nears. This is when you buy all of your necessities and fix up the nursery so that it looks adorable. Empty nesting is similar, only now you buy necessities for the baby to use in his dorm room that will never be described as adorable. Well, maybe if you have a daughter who loves pink and goes to a southern college, but not so much in our case. We got busy buying from Amazon, Bed Bath and Beyond, and Target, and soon everything he needed was ready to be shipped to his school. But as the date grew nearer for him to be shipped to school, I realized that he was ready to leave, but me, not so much.
I thought I was prepared, but as the drop-off date approached, I also began to feel separation anxiety creep in. I’d lie in bed, wide awake at 3 a.m. with my mind and pulse racing. Would he miss me? Would he remember to call home? Would I just sit in his empty room, humming “Sunrise, Sunset” and wondering what to do with my life now that I wasn’t a full-time mom for the first time in eighteen years? A lower grocery bill is great, but it definitely doesn’t make up for not having your kid living at home anymore. Is this why people have eighteen kids? I’d think. So there’s always one at home?
I pushed those thoughts out of my head while we made the final preparations, and drop-off day finally arrived. With my heart in my throat, we moved Sam into his bright dorm room that would soon not smell so nice. Then came the time to say goodbye. I’d kept it together all day, without even a single tear escaping, but I suddenly found myself fighting the urge to cling to his knees. He’d clung to mine the first day of kindergarten until I was honest with my emotions and reminded him (and myself) that it was tough, but he’d love school. Now, fourteen years later, the roles were reversed, and I was the one who felt like I was being abandoned.
I took a deep breath and managed to squeak out, “I’m so proud of you, sweetie. I’m also kind of sad.” He gave me a sweet smile and reassured me, and maybe himself, “We’re both going to do great, Mom.” And almost four years later, I have to say that we have. Even though I never managed to build that wet bar in his bedroom.
I like to think of the first days of kindergarten and college drop-off as Boo-Hoo/Yahoos. Because while they may be a sad end to one chapter of the parent-child relationship, they’re also the start of amazing new adventures for you both.