They grow up too fast...
There are some moments in life, when, even though we know they’re going to occur, they still have a tendency to knock us sideways. We think about them, we prepare, we get ready with our best-laid plans, and yet still, we’re left upside down and stunned at the moment they occur.
While the process or event can have a build-up, there is an identifiable and profound moment in which the ‘thing’ occurs. It’s not a switch that gets flicked, but it’s close.
The first time we crest the top of our first roller coaster. The birth of a child. The loss of a loved one. Making the difficult decision to say goodbye to the beloved family pet. Proposing marriage. Saying “I do”. Skydiving. Happy or sad, exciting or terrifying, they are all moments that have a singular identifiable moment that you did your best to prepare for.
This brings us to the empty nest.
That singular moment when the youngest child heads out into the world, leaving angst and “how did that happen!?!” in their wake.
[Side note: It’s worth noting that parents can mean any person in the child’s life who has been along for the wild ride that is childrearing. And college or university isn’t the only path that produces an empty nest, but for this writer, it is the experience being shared.]
The moment will produce what is arguably the biggest mixed bag of conflicting emotions that we may feel. Joy and pride mixed with sadness and dread. After all, our mission as parents is to prepare our child with the skills to head out into the world and live a productive and fulfilled life. But why can such a happy moment be so laced with chest pain and unsolicited tears?
The moment they head out to university or college is a sign of clear evidence of a job well done. Sure, they’re coming home in six weeks for Thanksgiving, and then probably in November for a visit. Oh, and then the winter break.
“I mean, it won’t be that bad. He’ll be home before we know it! He is coming home for Thanksgiving, right?!”
So, the spare bedroom is turned into a staging area. Bathroom accessories are stacked awkwardly in the corner. New bed sheets and a few sets of bath towels. Enough soap, shampoo, and deodorant to get him into his early twenties. New pencils, hi-lighters, and a fresh dry-erase month-at-a-glance calendar ready for the wall. Shoe racks, hangers, and desk organizers sit beside a Rubbermaid bin full of winter clothes.
“Do you have batteries?”
“What will I need batteries for?”
“OK, that’s fine. I’ll get batteries.”
“Huh?”
The staging area has turned into a logistics centre where only certain members of the team are permitted to enter. This is not ‘Back-to-School’ shopping. This is relocating the youngest child to her new home. This is what we’ve been training for!
Three days until the big day.
The staging area is in peak form with only a few bits and bobs left to get. The shared note on our mobile phones is full of checkmarks.
The stuffies are packed along with a few family photos. The blankets on her bed and her favourite pillows are ready to go.
“Can we put posters on the wall?”
“I’ll go get some of that 3M tape. It’ll be fine.”
Twas the night before departure…
The family goes out for a celebratory dinner the night before departure day. Remember, it’s a celebration! Right?!
Conversation at dinner covers all of the things. Reminiscing about family trips and the special moments that we’ve shared. What is she most excited for? What is she most nervous about? What is her course schedule? Can you share it in the family chat? Can we Facetime lots? You can call us anytime; you know that right? Are you planning on coming home for Thanksgiving? You’re planning on coming home for Thanksgiving, right?! To confirm, you’re coming home for Thanksgiving.
I resist the urge to ask questions. Trust the process. We’ve prepared them for this moment, and they are ready. Remember how you felt when you were their age? Yes, but why are they the most confident one?
The drop-off time at residence is 10:30 tomorrow morning. It’s a few hours’ drive, so we should probably leave at dawn.
*buzz* *buzz* *buzz*
The alarm goes off, and it’s their move-in day. Or for you, their move-out day. Also known as “holy crap, I can’t believe this day has arrived” day!
“They grow up so fast” was the refrain we heard back when they were going into Junior Kindergarten. And spoiler alert, they were right.
So, somehow, as the video replay of their childhood plays through our brain on a relentless loop, we are here lugging bags and boxes into the car. Nervous energy and a definite tense buzz hums in the house.
“Don’t forget…”
“Did you get…”
“What about…”
You drive away from the house in one of the first clear moments of change. This is the steep incline of the roller coaster as you stare skyward, wondering what it’s going to be like when you reach the peak before the drop.
Breakfast sandwiches and coffee in hand, you hit the highway. All you can see in the rear-view mirror is your child and a mountain of luggage in the background. There have been countless family road trips, but this one is clearly different.
You take an exit off the highway that has suddenly become one of the most meaningful off-ramps in your life. The car approaches the university and suddenly the reality of the moment occupies the entirety of the interior of the car.
“Wow. This is my new life.”
Whoa. Suddenly the driver’s eyes just loaded up with tears. Deep breath. Exhale.
He is smiling and nervous at the same time. It is a time to tuck your emotions in your back pocket as you join in and share the let’s-do-this attitude of the moment.
Jubilant volunteers with face paint and hi-visibility vests point us to turn right. We can hear the din of distant honking horns, loud music, and a significant amount of cheering. Really? Is all of this blatant happiness entirely necessary!?
Someone is slowly turning the dial of intensity up.
Everyone sits up a bit straighter in the car. Windows are lowered and the car radio is muted so we can hear.
Cars inch towards the final destination which, from this driver’s perspective, is complete (organized) chaos.
Are the 80 or 100 dancing “welcome to your new life” people there to throw a happy blanket over all of us struggling parents? Or is it an attempt to shock and awe the new arrivals into a different headspace?
The students are dropped off in time slots. Look to your left and you can see parents who are two hours ahead of us in the process, as they walk back to their car while simultaneously smiling and wiping tears from their cheeks. It’s like arriving at the venue to get married as the previous wedding spits out the newly minted married couple.
“Woah…that’s us in a few hours…”
HOOONNNNNNNNKKKKKKKK
The loud music, incessant joy, and honking horns snap you back to the reason for the moment. Unloading your kiddo into their new life.
“Stay in your car! We’ll unload everything! Follow the signs to parking!”
Wait. What? Do you have any clue how therapeutically important it is for me to unload my kids’ stuff on this, my most/least favourite day of all time!?
You look left, and then right and POOF, just like that, your spouse and youngest child are gone. Here I am, simply there as a tool to go park the car.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find you after I park!” I say to no one.
And then suddenly, somehow, the roller coaster eases a bit as you walk into the dorm room.
First, it is much nicer than your first-year dorm, back in the days of Blue Jays’ World Series victories. Somehow, seeing where they’ll be sleeping at night provides some calm. The vision of what it might be has been replaced with ‘oh hey, this is great!’.
Unpacking is underway at a level of unrivalled intensity. T-shirts go here. The bed is made. Shirts, sweaters, and the obligatory suit are all hung up.
“How about I set up the computer”
Lamps are set-up. Soap and towels are put in their proper place. Future dorm friends give polite smiles as they, too, buzz up and down the hallways on their own unpacking frenzy.
*BAM*
Their bedroom has quite literally never looked so good. And suddenly you’re sitting on their bed in the strangest “do we leave now?” moment of your life.
What better way to delay that moment than a stroll around the campus. And by stroll, I mean let’s walk every available pathway and see as many buildings as possible. Perhaps there is comfort in seeing what they’ll see. Or perhaps it’s just a delay tactic for the incoming crest of the roller-coaster climb.
It’s strange though because at this moment, as you stroll around in the warm August sun, you’re truly happy and excited for them. It’s a mix of reminiscing of my experience in this stage of life, with excitement for what may come for my youngest.
With your arm around their shoulders, you have nothing to say except that you’re proud of them. And to not forget that you can drive up at a moment’s notice to go for dinner. Like, seriously, any time at all.
You wander back to their dorm for the big goodbye.
Oh look, there is another parent wiping happy tears from their face. I mean, they look happy, right?
Back in their dorm room, it is time for sentences that start with “well”, “ok”, and “it’s time”.
You share a hug that is completely unable to compensate for this buffet of mixed emotions. There is really nothing more to say. It is, indeed, time.
The crest of the roller coaster.
The birth of the child.
Saying a last goodbye.
Jumping out of that airplane.
That singular moment is here.
We thought about it and knew it would arrive. We told ourselves all the necessary stories to help us navigate the moments and days that would follow.
And yet, here we are, walking out of that dorm as the roller-coaster makes its way over the precipice.
All of those tick-tick-tick sounds as we climbed up that steep incline led us to this right now. Sure, there are tears, and then laughter. Then there’s a hug, some more tears, a titch of anger, and then a full-on “what are we doing in this parking garage crying” laugh. Was I there enough for them? Did we go on enough vacations? Why did I do so many open houses when they were little!!? (That’s a blog for another day)
Perhaps that is the point. All those emotions are byproducts of the significance of the moment. We’re scared, excited, worried, nervous, joyful, and a little bit nauseous.
But when the dust settles and the loops are done looping, we’re on a different ride. This one isn’t necessarily easy, but is a chapter where we experience a new day-to-day.
Sure, there are fewer dirty dishes and a lot less laundry. Our home life is completely transformed. It’s different.
So perhaps this is another time in our lives for us to embrace with the same intent we managed their departure.
Coffee dates and dinners out are planned. Maybe now is the time to paint the rec room or redecorate our bedroom. Volunteering suddenly becomes a place that you can devote some of your time. Pottery class on Tuesday evenings? Sure, why not.
Is this empty nest a place that we have figured out? Of course it isn’t. Much like we aren’t the same in the moments after that sky dive, roller coaster, or birth of a child.
We’re in a new place. Our kiddo, or kids, still need us, but in different ways. That evolving relationship might just be the most fulfilling part of this next chapter.
As they grow, so too will we.
It’s a time for deep breaths, embracing our new chapter, and giving ourselves credit for a job well done. And on an aside, we’ve likely gained a better appreciation for our parents and the ‘journey’ we put them through all those years ago.
Either way, absolutely, they grew up too fast.
Writers Note: we don't use AI to write any of our blogs. They are all handcrafted from our very own brains. :)