My daughter’s gone to college to start her grand adventure (gulp) without me. I took comfort that Brooke Shields cried, dropping off her daughter at college, and her daughter’s a sophomore, not even a freshman. But who am I kidding? I can’t look that beautiful when I cry.
But Alex always has to be practical when I’m not (we take turns that way; that’s why we’re each other’s better half). So he said, “There must be something more to this; why are you having such a hard time?”
Well, duh, Brooke Shields is having a hard time with it. How’s that? And remember all the mothers on these message boards. They’re discussing whether they should get matching tattoos or puppies to replace the hole in their hearts.
I’m doing fine. Seriously fine. Until I wonder how my daughter’s doing, and it reminds me.
- I don’t know what she’s doing or where she is right at this very minute.
- She’s no longer around.
- My daughter’s childhood is over, and those firsts we experienced together are gone.
- Oh my gosh, she’s no longer my baby.
- My job as a parent has changed, and I didn’t even get a raise or a salary.
- My family doesn’t look or feel the same without her.
- Don’t get me started on the trips to the supermarket. We used to buy her favorite foods, and now we don’t have to.
Do any of those work? Is that why I have this pit in the middle of my chest? Now her room is a time capsule–it’s a piece of art reminding me of the last time I saw her (okay, it was only two weeks ago).
But maybe Alex is right. Maybe there’s something more to this. Why’s this so hard?
Feeling broken doesn’t help me be rational enough to answer that question. Once I feel broken, everything around me breaks: the computer, the car, the phone, the TVs. Even the dog’s knee’s giving way to arthritis.
There’s her empty room and no more dorm shopping–nothing to take my mind off the pain. I’d been so hyper-focused on shopping for my daughter’s dorm room that it’s the only thing she can remember I did for her as a parent.
I got through college drop-off, and then I united my free time and creative mojo with Alexandra’s, and damn, if we didn’t send her an 18th birthday care package, that would put anyone on Pinterest to shame.
I said to Alexandra, “Maybe we should start a business.”–My answer to everything I do that’s over the top. Alexandra said if someone wanted to pay us to do this, we’d charge $1,000. Then it would be worth doing it again.
Right. I’ve done enough. There’s nothing left for me to do. But that’s what I’ve always done. Don’t you get it? And I never got paid for any of it, and I still did it. I’d do it repeatedly for the rest of my life and still not ask for a dime.
But suddenly, I feel like I’m pregnant all over again. I have a due date (parents’ weekend), and I have no idea when I’ll get a little kick (the calls when she asks how much medicine to take) or what she’ll look like except for that ultrasound picture (FaceTime once a week).
I dream about what the baby might be like, but now those dreams have become memories. And then the baby’s born, and you’re just a flab of a mess with no idea what to do with yourself.
I’m broken because the delighted baby I could protect and nourish and do everything for turned into an adult I must let go of and stop smothering.
But we unpacked everything into her nursery (I mean dorm room) and made the sterile surroundings cozy. It only took two days to put everything into its new place so she could feel like she had something to resemble home, for my sake, not hers.
Before she knew she’d never spend any time there anyway, she remembered that in my college shopping frenzy, I said, “The number one most important thing is a doorstop so people will come in and say hi.” Instead, we figured she’d prop a shoe against the door, so we didn’t get one.
But the door was heavy and kept shutting. My daughter looked at me–it was her first ask. “Can you buy me that doorstop?”
That’s when the answer to Alex’s question hit me. My job as a parent was to be a doorstop. I propped the door open so my daughter could see the world from a safe place and closed it when she’d had enough. I prided myself on being her gatekeeper.
I grew to appreciate our little cocoon; nothing could harm us. I stopped taking risks (unless you count being in Mamma Mia!, writing this muse, or my latest, taking tap dancing lessons). And they shouldn’t matter because isn’t there more to me than that?
Doorstops are super handy when you need them, but they get in the way when you’ve got to leave. Our adult kids know this about us. We can’t admit it to ourselves. We want to hold the door open a little longer to show our kids the world. It’s such a pretty view. We know what to expect.
What happens when we take away the doorstopper?
Yes, we’re worried about our kids and if they’ll make friends and ever eat or drink water again, but deep down, we’re concerned about ourselves.
Can we venture out into the world again, like we’re urging our kids? We are to be the example of how to walk through that door and explore what awaits.
But we’re scared. It’s hard to leave our cozy nests. It’s hard when our adult kids don’t need us to block them–and nothing’s standing in our way, either.
So, ironically, I bought my daughter a doorstopper, so she’s the gatekeeper of her life now. She has a safe place to venture out into the world and a cozy place to come home to. And now she can prop the door open when she needs a little company.
My daughter no longer needs me to hold her back. It’s the most challenging part of motherhood–letting go. I should be celebrating my promotion, and I will, but meanwhile, I need to figure out how to be a role model on the off chance that she calls me.
So true! I just can’t stop worrying!
We need a group parent hug! Some times of day are worse than others. We definitely need to get together. Sending love and hugs until that can happen!! xoxo
Ironically I bought a door stop too and keep telling her to use it (which she doesn’t do). Thank you for this. When I told her Saturday to call friends and get up off the floor..I also called a friend so I would stop sitting alone in the sofa! I need to follow my own good advice as well!
You gotta love the doorstop! I can give such great advice to my daughter, too, but then there’s always the other voice that pops into my head: what about me? I’m feeling sorry for myself and clinging desperately to the way things were. What do I have to say to myself about that? Sending you love and hugs!! There’s hope for all of us yet, lol!!
All will change and then change again and again. If you think letting go for college is rough …. It’s only preparation for what comes next.
Of course! Try to nip all that sadness in the butt now, before it gets even more overwhelming, lol!! Love you!!
P.s. I just came to see my granddaughter off to her first day of kindergarten.
Now there’s a tearjerker—thinking of all the first days of kindergarten that came before your granddaughter (yours included).
Dear Steph…so happy you’re back!! All these new memories you’re making are my old memories and I love hearing them. You’re doing great as you prepare (like Nancy said) for the next round. We all love to cling to the way things were but the good news is that we somehow get through it (divine intervention, of course!) Your girls know you are and will forever be their rock and as they go through their life stages they always circle back to their master doorstopper! It’s wonderful…love you.
Dear Nuria, This is what I miss about writing for so long—your beautiful comments. You bring joy to my heart! I love you so much!! xoxo
I can totally relate. It was especially hard for me because she’s my only child, and my bestie. Not to mention, she was 6.5 hours away. It was a hard first year for her. She lost two of her closest grandparents two months apart. She was sad, scared, and confused, and worried about losing another grand parent, who wasn’t doing well at the time, and I couldn’t be there for her. She had a roommate that turned into “Cybil” and made her life hell. And, again, I couldn’t be there for her, and that ate me up inside. She decided that being 6.5 hours away was a little too far and she wanted to transfer. I was so proud of her because she knew what was best for her and her sanity, and most of all, her future. She notified school and her coaches and followed through with the process without my help. She started her new chapter at St. John’s University, in New York, and she LOVES it. I’m so proud of the woman she has become, as I’m sure you are proud of your “baby”. We can’t lose sight of the fact that they are who they are because of US.
Yes, it sucks not being able to see Em every single day. The house feels a little different and I can’t stop wondering what she is doing. But, sometimes I feel like maybe it’s better that I don’t know what she is doing, because, well, she is my daughter.:)
Whenever i am find myself missing her, or I’m feeling sorry for myself, i try to remind myself that she is STRONG, INTELLIGENT, and INDEPENDENT, because that’s how we raised her. Our job as parents isn’t over, it just changed a little.
Since Em left for college, I have learned to take comfort in little things like Face Time, texting, TikTok and Instagram. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true, because it’s so convenient and it satisfies my need for instant gratification.
Yes, the house is different, her room is empty, and there’s a little whole in my heart. But, all of this is temporary, because she will be back for holidays, breaks, and, before we know it, summer will be here again. Her room will be a mess again, with clothes all over the floor because she can’t find an outfit to wear when she goes out with her friends. She will complain because she doesn’t have any clothes to wear, and I will be back to just rolling my eyes and shaking my head, and counting down the days until she goes back, even though I really don’t mean it….Most times.
Hang in there, girlfriend, and always know that you have a huge support system surrounding you. You can count me in on that. Remind yourself that you and Alex gave your sweet girl wings to fly, and trust that she will soar to great success because she is STRONG, INTELLIGENT, and INDEPENDENT, and she will be just fine. Be proud and never forget, in the words of Glennon Doyle, “ We can do hard things.”
You’re an amazing mama, and I am honored to call you my friend. Thanks for sharing these honest, thoughtful and sometimes funny, muses. You are one very talented, creative and STRONG woman. Keep that s#?t up.
Sending you lots of ((hugs)).
This is brilliant!! Although I’d have to question your word choice “sometimes” funny?!!! But seriously, you nailed it. You just wrote your first muse.! And we did raise STRONG, INTELLIGENT and INDEPENDENT daughters who know what’s right for them because we’re those very same qualities!!! Our girls had no choice but to be amazing!! Amazing mamas = amazing daughters!! Thanks for being in my corner and know when I’m out of the ring you’ll find me over in yours. Yeah team!!! Love and a great big celestial hug!! xoxo