After dropping our son at college, we drove away in an aimless fog.  The trip had been carefully planed through this point – then no plan, just the road ahead and the still silence in the car.  Tears. 

We drove for hours and stopped when we were tired and hungry, slept, got up and drove to Chautauqua Institution in NY.  I could not bear the thought of going home to that empty house.  The new plan – exhaust ourselves.  Go home so tired, that we fall asleep immediately.  Do something we would never dream of doing with Jordan.  So we spent the day at a center for the arts, education, religion and recreation.  It was lovely and just what the doctor ordered. The sadness was still there but less penetrating.

Two days post drop off, I woke up at home to the strange and dreaded emptiness.  I had no idea what to do.  The previous year I tried to be home at much as possible in case J. happened to show up in between school and all his social activities.  There was way more anticipation of than time spent together.  When he did arrive it was usually for a nap. Now I was free, anticipating nothing.  Big whoop.

After J. was born I took up photography and completed a course in dark room techniques.  I loved it.  Developing a photograph, watching what emerges, is like opening a gift or perusing the garden and taking delight in the smallest signs of change.  It was years since I had journeyed on my own just to take pictures. I grabbed my old manual camera and perched myself on a large rock by the pond.  I decided to take a photo of a frog sitting on a lily pad.  It turned into an unplanned meditation.  Five minutes – no frog.  Ten minutes – no frog.  Twenty, thirty – frogs were not cooperating with the plan.  I looked skyward.  Oh My God.  I am surrounded by wild blueberry bushes.  I have lived here for 3 years and had never noticed.  Picking fruit in the wild is one of my favorite activities.  What a gift.  I put the camera down and spent the rest of my journey collecting and eating the luscious fruits of transition.

With the gift of the blueberries, after two days in transition – preceded by a full year of anticipatory emotions – I got it.  The empty nest brought the gift of noticing all that had been there for years waiting to be discovered. 

Post script:  A year later, I continue to enjoy noticing the world and experiencing the joy of be-ing the mother to a delightful adult-in-process.

My wishes to you on your journey – may you accept all that transitions bring.

©2010 Germane Insights. All Rights Reserved.

Dear Son (or Daughter):

I am so deeply sorry that I have not understood you all these years.  Please forgive me.  I saw the light when thinking about the following request in the Atlantic Monthly “Word Fugitive” column:

“I’m looking for a word for the items of clothing which sit perched in my bedroom, waiting to be reworn. They are not yet ready for the laundry bin (since I plan to rewear them), but they are no longer suitable for the wardrobe (which I reserve for clean clothes). I assume others keep their lightly worn clothes in a similar purgatory?”

My submission:

I begin with an apology to my son who has been leaving what I thought were dirty clothes in various mounds around the house for many years. I am sorry for accusing you of being a slob. I hoped that when you went to college you would change. I’m sorry that I expressed my disappointment when upon our first visit I saw the usual mound in front of the bunk bed where not only you but your unfortunate roommate had to step on or around the clothes hill.  Finally I asked “Why do you do this when the clothes hamper is within reach?” I apologize for accusing you of making up a lame excuse when you explained that these clothes were “tweener-duds” and therefore not clean enough to be in the company of freshly laundered items in the closet but not yet dirty enough to have earned the status of laundry.  I see now they were “limbowear”, and you are among the proud few who share this system. In honor of the texting generation that founded this concept I also suggest we could call them 2clean4laun (too clean for laundry) and 2dirt4close (too dirty for closet).  The really big piles will simply be called Himalayers.

With new found affection and respect -
Love Mom

©2010 Germane Insights. All Rights Reserved.

In August our son left for college providing me with the opportunity to learn up close and personal about life’s transitions once again.  For months I rode anticipatory waves of:  sadness about the end of this chapter, loneliness over the sound and sense of emptiness in the house, worry and fear about how my husband and I would relate without Jordan as one of the primary focal points of our attention and the topic of many conversations.  This was more than a change in Jordan’s life. It was a change of life for my husband, for me, and for us as a couple. Yet it was also time – he was ready.  In fact he had been ready for the past 6 months and our household was nearly splitting at the edges from containing the tension of his need to be independent (at least partially so).  I also felt secure that as parents we had done what was needed and what we could to prepare him for the road ahead.  It was time for him to feel the ups and downs of life without our protection.  I hoped, and still do, that he will learn along the way. 

We chose to drive to Ohio and back so that we might experience a journey through this transition rather than an abrupt change via air transport. Jordan spent most of day 1 in the back seat of the rented van headphones blocking out the opportunity for those rich meaningful talks I imagined. When we got to Niagara Falls, however, we were three – four including the dog.  We walked and gawked and talked. 

Rather than leave the ending to chance we planned a nice dinner at a recommended restaurant the evening before drop off.  We also asked him to picture what he wanted upon arriving at his dorm – butterflies in my stomach even as I write this.  “We can drop you off, take your things out of the car and leave. We can help you get settled in your room and go out to lunch. We can stay overnight and say goodbye the next morning.”  As you read his response, keep in mind that he had been over the top obnoxious during the previous months – turning them into what seemed like years. With that smile that wishes it could stay hidden but emerges in a sheepish and endearing way he replied, “I want you to stay and help set up my room.”   This turned into one of the more delightful aspects of the transition. Our son, in one small but significant way, was morphing into an adult before our eyes. He took charge and directed us with confidence. “Sweaters on the top shelf.  Please hang my jeans so they won’t get wrinkled.”  And I willingly followed directions. What a wonderful turn of the tables and beginning of the role reversal.  AHHHH!  Having proved his competence, he asked for advice about the best way to arrange the furniture.  He expressed concern that his roommate wasn’t there.  “I don’t want to make all these decisions without him. He should have a say. But I don’t want to just sit around and wait. What do you think I should do?”  Other kids, their parents and sibs stopped by to chat or check the furniture arrangement. We did the same. It felt good. We were leaving our son to a generally friendly and congenial group.  Finally Mike arrived. A quiet young man, a perfect match for our overly-extroverted son who is always stirring up social activities. And oh how I loved that he refurbished his father’s old 10 speed and brought it to this very same college that his father attended.  I did the corny Mom thing and took pictures of the two of them then handed Mike the camera for a few family shots.

We took a shopping trip to the local department store, letting Mike and his family spend time together while putting their touches on the room.  When we returned, there was little left to do. We all knew. It was time, and with grace Jordan eased us to the door and said he would like to walk us to the car – butterflies and tears now as I write. I was surprised.  Somehow I did not have an advanced picture for this part.  We stood by the van, no awkwardness.  I caught the moment when Jordan held out his arms to hug his father (real tears now). Bob happened to turn away just at that moment, and I saw the disappointment on my son’s face, which was quickly erased when Bob saw those open arms and closed himself into them.  It was a beautiful scene that I will never (never say never) forget.  (Tears falling down my face now.) I was next.  A hold not a hug.  But he was not holding on like in preschool.  He was saying “Goodbye and thank you for bringing me to this point in my journey.  I am equipped.  I will be fine here.  I love you, and I wish you well on the next part of your journey without me.”  He climbed in the trunk of the van, said “goodbye” to the dog, waited until we got in, and closed my door.

Our Southern College Tour-Spring 08

J’s graduation party-July 08

 Click here for Part 2 - A Space in the Nest for Blueberry Bushes

©2010 Germane Insights. All Rights Reserved.