Denying the Drop Off

It happened for the first time a few days ago when I was dropping my daughter off at the train station. As she stepped out of the car to go downtown for her internship, my eyes welled up. All of a sudden, I was fighting back tears.

People have been asking me how will I deal with my daughter’s departure for college. I have been answering honestly: I am in denial. I haven’t been thinking about it. She isn’t leaving now, so I don’t have to face it.

But I do.

This may be the most dramatic transition in our family life to date. Bringing home babies was certainly a big deal. The start of school and the cessation of diapers were landmarks. From my present perspective, they all pale to launching.

After I left for college, I only lived at home for a few weeks once in a while. My parents’ house ceased to be my primary residence, although it was still “home.” I remember my mother’s face when I casually said to her that, “this is probably the last time I’ll spend this much time at home.”

It is my face right now. Intellectually, I understand that my child will only be home during short bursts. We have done that. She has gone away to camp and spent summers overseas and at educational programs. We have more technological tools to communicate than ever before. We’ll talk. We’ll video chat (maybe). We’ll sent text messages and emails. But she still won’t be home. And I am only now starting to fathom the reality of that.

My children and I have a bedtime rituals. I am the last one to get into bed most nights. As my daughter and I said goodnight a few days ago, she asked if she could program a repeating text message. After I danced around the mechanics, I asked her what she wanted to accomplish. She wanted to text me the final part of our evening routine. She wanted to make sure that certain things didn’t change when she went to college.

Yet change is the constant here. My daughter swings between pushing her parents away and wanting to cling closely. When we attended a reception for Chicago area students going to her university, she made it clear that she did not want us shadowing her. In the car ride downtown, she clearly asked for space. Yet, when we got there and I moved across the room, I turned around to see her brush up to her mother and take her hand. It was lovely.

And that may be the metaphor for our transition into this new stage of family life. We will be close and far. We will hold hands across the country. We will adapt our routines.

The family theorist Virginia Satir used the metaphor of the mobile that hangs above an infant’s crib to describe family dynamics. Each member of the family is one of the objects hanging from the mobile. If any of them move or change, it affects the whole system. The family is interdependent in so many ways. My daughter’s departure creates a whole new mobile and a whole new set of relationships.

That is also true for her younger brother at home starting high school. He will be an only child at home for much of his high school career. What does that mean? I have no idea.

Shortly, my wife and I will board a plane and bring our daughter to college. I have no doubt that, after we have schlepped all the baggage up the stairs and waited in long lines, and dusted, cleaned, and unpacked, she will look at us, smile, and let us know it is time for us to leave. And it will be. I’m just not ready.