When our eldest left for college, I prepared myself for the waves of grief everyone so caringly warned about in the hushed tones usually reserved for discussing terminal illness and death. I packed tissues and braced myself for move-in day. I had best friends on stand-by for those first empty nesting weeks. I waited for the sobbing to begin. I’m a weeper. Surely the tears were only a matter of time.

But at drop-off, while I admit to feeling momentarily nostalgic (as I discreetly palmed a tissue to DH), my overwhelming feelings were those of excitement for our son and relief that we’d somehow managed to get this wonderful, messy, brilliant, scattered, lovable child launched into the world. I high-fived hubby on the way home and life went on.

Four years later–after celebrating kid #1’s diploma and kid #2’s high school graduation– it’s our youngest’s turn to spread her wings.

The warnings about our soon-to-be empty nest have been rumbling like thunder in the distance since June. As such, I’ve spent the summer in a flurry of distracting activities buying dorm supplies and ironing out logistical issues like a hurricane prepper hoarding plywood. Maybe everyone was right? Maybe this time, when my baby and only daughter left the nest, it’d feel different?

I delivered her to her dorm Sunday in sweltering heat, making a glorious impression, I’m sure, on all the other parents, delicate rivers of sweat soaking my mask and my hair declaring war in the humidity. The perky RA came by repeatedly to offer lunch at the dining hall as if anyone moving mini-fridges in 90 degree heat wanted anything that didn’t contain alcohol.

Giving College Girl one last squeezy hug, I hopped in the car. I felt myself well up a bit as I scrounged for wet wipes with which to bathe, waved goodbye to my baby–the girl who just yesterday I caught coming into the world–and drove away.

And that was it.

I drove five hours sipping the iced tea I got at the drive through, scrolling through radio stations, playing with the cruise control of my new car–not crying, not feeling bereft, looking forward to a shower, hoping my girl was settling in well.

Monday morning I woke up with the dogs too early for my liking, fed the cats, waved goodbye to hubby on his way to work and took stock. I decided maybe I needed to give things a few days. Surely I was in shock and the grief had yet to set in. I made fresh coffee.

It’s now Wednesday. 

I don’t want to jump the gun on this, but I think I’m okay.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my children with a ferocity and pride I can’t quite describe, but they were never mine to keep. Our job these many years was to shepherd them through childhood in one piece, give them the tools and lessons and support they needed to go out into the world and do their thing. Remember how it felt to launch into the world? Remember that? I do. Home felt like the clothes I was outgrowing on the way to adulthood. 

Remember, too, how exciting it was to buy and choose new clothes?

That’s the excitement I feel for my kids now. They’re deciding what they like, how they want to be in this world, and that’s fun and a space of dreams and possibilities. I never want to be the cord that holds my kids back, just the soft place for them to land. 

Our house today is emptier and quieter and feels a bit as if we’re left standing in the aftermath of a storm that’s been swirling in our lives for two decades. I walked around much of that first day putting things away and to rights, tucking away those items College Girl deemed okay to leave behind as she fled with the storm at her back…

Yet we’re still here, DH and I, the survivors, surveying the changed landscape of our lives. Remembering the tree that used to be out front with the fairy houses underneath, the sandbox that’s now overgrown and being reclaimed by the neighboring woods. I walk around this house and remember who and what DH and I dreamed about before the storms of parenthood blew them off course and took us in new directions. I’m cleaning. Getting things in order. Planning new plans. Writing. I’m feeling blessed that DH and I can look at one another, recognize one another despite the weathering of the years, and still genuinely like one another. It’s okay if we cry. It’s okay if we don’t. Parenthood is messy and disorienting. Those of us who’ve reached this phase of life should be proud to have made it through the storm.

As for me?

I’m looking forward to hearing tales of high winds and cleansing rains when my little birds fly back for a visit. 

My kids are out in the world living life and dreaming dreams, and that’s exactly how it should be.