Phinny is still in bed. I have no idea how late he was up hanging with friends for the last time in the easy shelter of their high school lives, but today this close-knit group will continue dispersing to faraway cities and states. Baltimore, San Diego, Montreal, Maine.
We are taking Phinny to Trinity College in Hartford. It’s a day we’ve been anticipating since he started school 13 years ago. The one we are in no way ready for.
I can just about remember back to my first day of college orientation in the fall of 1982. With the car packed for the drive to New Jersey, my mother called, “Schatzi! Let’s go!”
“You are not taking the dog!” I shouted.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” she said, “Leave her here?”
“Yes!”
And there it was, our last fight for a long while, this one over our yappy miniature Schnauzer that my sister and I called “Shitzy.” I remember my anger that, only now, I realize must have come from a deeper place of anxiousness over starting college. Still, I was pissed.
“It’s not okay to bring a dog to the dorm,” I shouted, “and then to a reception at the president’s house.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” my mother insisted and hurried Shitzy into the car.
Last night I texted Phinny: Don’t stay out too late. Big day tomorrow.
Dad said I can stay out as late as I want, he texted back.
I let it go, determined not to have a Shitzy moment, not on his final night without the pressures and responsibilities that these next years will bring. And while I can’t remember my own last carefree night with my high school friends 35 years ago, I remember when I came back at Thanksgiving that I felt like our house had shrunk.
Most likely that emerged from my skewed perspective of living in a large dorm, but also the sense of my world expanding. Before going to college, I had hardly spent more than a few weeks away from my hometown. I knew almost no non-Catholics and wore a lot of knee-length plaid skirts.
But there I was, meeting my new roommate, Allison, who appeared for orientation in very non-Catholic leopard skin bikini shorts that made my father’s eye pop.
Her boyfriend slept over a few nights, and pretty quickly—even before starting classes—this sheltered young coed learned a lot about life. On the second week when Allison was up jumping rope at 6 a.m., I suggested that we might consider a different living situation, with more compatible people. She darted out of the room to go knock on the door of Sid Vicious, a girl whose roommate had never showed up. They made a good pair.
For the next two years I roomed with Weynabeba, a gorgeous, 4″10″ Ethiopian girl from Geneva that everyone called Baby Weyn.
She spoke 5 languages, and let me borrow her Benetton sweaters. Sometimes on Friday afternoons, we’d sit in the room smoking thin clove cigarettes she called bidis, and I’d feel like I had entered another world. I had.
And now it’s my son’s turn to find his people, his academic path, his footing on the soccer field. It’s time for his world to expand and for our house to shrink. Please no wild first roommates though.
It’s all as it should be, I suppose, but I never would have predicted this feeling of being gutted. Though you propel your child toward it for so many years, (get good grades, get into college), you suddenly want to, as Joni Mitchell sings, drag your feet and slow the circles down.
You can’t take it, the hollow space in your chest, and time rushing through like a strong wind.
When I go in to wake up Phinny, I look around at his room weeded of his life. I try to determine which books and treasures he’s chosen to bring, as if picking memories that could capture something of these years that he’s loved so much. That we’ve loved so much.
Finally I lean over and tousle his hair, the way I’ve been doing since he was a baby. I try to swallow all of my sadness. “Time to get ready,” I say.
*****
His dorm hallways echo. It’s athlete move-in day, so there’s no orientation energy and hype, just a few dozen fit-looking students with their parents dragging in armloads of stuff. We all smile warmly, but there’s not connection yet. His roommate won’t be there for another five days.
We sort out his bed and desk, then make a run to Target, a mile down the road from my childhood home in New Britain. We get him a rug, a wastebasket, and rainbow-colored junk food that I’ve never allowed in the house. He just throws boxes in the cart, clearly aware that I have no power to resist anything he asks for. Not today.
At the food counter I grab him some chicken alfredo. Since I forget to also grab a plastic fork, Phinny has to eat it using my rejected pizza crust as a scoop. Soon we are back in his room assembling and hammering. And then it’s time.
I feel this strange impulse to apologize to my boy for all of the things I didn’t teach him.
We did our best to get you ready, I want to say. I hope it was enough.
Even my parents did their best. In fact Schatzi, who ran yapping up and down the dorm hall on my college move-in day, ended up being a huge hit with all of the nervous new students. Which, in turn, gave me a boost of popularity.
But I don’t say anything to Phinny. I just watch as Mark hugs him and cries. When it’s my turn, I hold him tight.
Finally, Mark and I are preparing to leave through the heavy, institutional door, when Phinny says, “One more,” and pulls the two of us into a hug such as we have never had before. “Thank you,” he whispers.
And that’s when my heart breaks open.
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Yes, yes, and yes. <3
Thank you!
Hard to believe. Life goes on. And this, too, shall pass. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks Tim. Perhaps I’ll see you in CT soon.
Lovely. I held it together until the last line. Brought back memories of sending my son off last year and all those feelings rushing back!
Thank you. I just hope it is gets a bit easier every year.
I’ll let you know on 9/23!
Same here, Connie. They’re so young and so brave, so close and yet so far.
Exactly.
Sandra, a lovely piece! I remember crying myself at the airport when my parents dropped me off for my new grad adventure.
Not sure if this helps or not, but it is might be a time for you to spread your own wings in a different direction. Your son is taking flight, you are taking flight and all soaring to new places. Letting go is a powerful gift to give someone.
Thanks Julie. And, yes, I’m trying to fly, too. Building up my wings again.
Oh, Sandra, you made me cry again. Think I had better go and text my son.
:-) I keep telling my freshman at Lowell to text their parents. They think I’m nuts, but I’m sure the moms appreciate me.
It’s not a “leaving” year for us, but reading this brought it all back. Wonderful! Can I share with a friend who’s just dropped her second “baby” off at college, and now a very resistant empty nester?
Thanks Julia. Share away! In fact I’ll post it on FB.
It does get easier with each year, until suddenly they are moving back IN to your house! What helps is seeing them make the friendships that I know will stay with them, through marriages and babies and new jobs and middle age and wedding anniversaries that begin with “twenty….” Love you SandRA
Love you, too, Sue.
“Gutted” … I hear you. Missing them!
I KNOW you understand Beth. Hope she’s doing well.
And then…they come back! Sometimes for a little while, sometimes longer. But they do come back and you get to drink beer with them and they are funny and smart and happy. And then they go away again and part of you is sad, but part breathes a big sigh of relief
So true! I love spending time with my ” adult” daughters now AND love having a clean home when they are gone! But it is oh-so-lovely when they spend the night and our home feels full again.
Another great Sandra Miller essay – had me in tears by the time I reached the end
Thank you, Mara.
So relatable, thank you for capturing this time so eloquently. Just love the AHS 2017 class, so many wonderful memories with amazing young adults!
Thanks Lynn. And I totally agree about that class. I miss Phinny’s gang.
Your poignant essay speaks directly to my heart.
Thank you, Marie.
Sandra, the tears fell and the memories went back to 1983 when I took David to the Philadelphia airport to go to Mudd. And this year he is the empty nester with all three girls spread out over the world. After he left, I moved to New England and started a new life. And then he was there, too. Otherwise, I would never have met you! Beautiful.
Thank you, Winna for being such a loyal reader. I’m so glad the piece took you back, and touched you.
Beautiful, Sandra. Thanks for writing this, and sharing. I’m still sniffling and sobbing, even after reading through the comments. Here’s hoping it’s a good year for you all.
Thanks, Mary. Same to you. I think you might be launching one, too???
My moment came on the ride home after I dropped Rory for his Sophomore year. We had such a great roadtrip. Iphoned him as I arrived back in A town, missing him already.There was something about the way he said “Bye Mom” that cracked my heart and let the flow of tears begin.
I always remember feeling sad when hearing Joni sing that line- then it was a lyric, now it is a reality.
Loved this piece Sandra!
Thanks Lisa. I hope Rory is doing well–even if it’s hard on your heart.
Another great piece as always Sandra. Brings back memories when we dropped our daughter and son off to college for the first time. Many tears but an exciting time for them! Our daughter is now living home while going to grad school. My home feels full again but a bit messier. Loved it!
Thanks Donna. Yes, it’s their excitement mixed with our trepidation. Enjoy having her home again.
Went to read your latest blog and bumped into this one. Crying now… Steve and I are already mourning the passing of the little kid years. We’re now experiencing what I call “future nostalgia” – imagining when we’ll be longing for the days we’re having now with the boys. Just yesterday when I picked Eli up, I began thinking about what life would be like when Evan goes off to college. Plans to have an exchange student live with us began taking shape in my mind. But this morning as I dropped Eli off at school, he quelled my hovering sadness by assuring me that he would be living at home through college, grad school and his first job. Maybe we’re missing something here?… Thank you for your beautiful piece! Miss you guys!
Thank you Fritzie. So sweet of you to read and comment. The heartbreak only lessens when you look up and see your kids flying.