Letting Go at College Dropoff

This month, my wife, Joelle, and I will carry out a timeless ritual: drive our teenager to college for the first time, help her get set up on campus, then say goodbye … and drive away.

Ouch. It hurts just to write those words.

Hannah, our only child, will be 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away from home. What happens now?

First, the driving-away part—how does that ride go?

Do my wife and I sit in numbed silence for the first 20 minutes and then erupt in a primal scream? Do we distract ourselves by manically planning vacations to fill the next three months? Or simply hit the first doughnut shop we see and eat our feelings?

And yet, agonizing as it might be, it’s a ritual for a reason. This is the process. This is what parents the world over do. We must let go (at least a little), so that our cherished child can become independent.

While the child soars, the parents stumble, right into an empty nest. There will be sadness, but also excitement. What friends will she make? What professor will she tell us all about?

There will, of course, be worry—a parent’s birthright. Will she be safe away from home? Will she feel lonely, or lost? Will she balance social life with studies?

My Toastmasters training could come in handy. After 18 years of “How is Hannah? Where is Hannah? What should we tell Hannah? What should we get Hannah? Can you drive Hannah?,” my wife and I will need to learn how to hold a conversation again. Time for Table Topics at home!

On the other hand, with Hannah away, our schedules will free up. New hobbies await. Ballroom dancing? Poetry class? Roller skating at the retro rink? Although … the last time I tried skating there—when Hannah was 6—I took more spills than a duck on ice. Breaking bones isn’t the adventure I’m seeking.

The house will be quiet. I’ll miss Hannah’s noise. Gabbing and giggling with her friends on the phone or iPad for hours. Her constant cooing to our little dog, Charlie. Her company on the couch as we watch “Dancing With The Stars.” Her late-night requests for mint-chip ice cream. Even her irritation: “Yes, I know, Dad [requisite eyeroll]. You already told me that about a hundred times.” I’ll miss it all.

The conversations will continue, just with new methods to cover the distance. We’ll be phoning, texting, FaceTiming, WhatsApping, and more. Of course, I know Hannah will be home again. There will be holiday breaks and whole summers. The same routines will resume. I’ll watch her cuddling with Charlie, bug her to stop looking at her phone, and witness her disdain at my jokes.

It will be the same … and yet different. It’s a new stage of life for our daughter. Parenting involves constant adjustments and accommodations as our children journey forward, bringing a new sense of wonder and appreciation.

But we like looking back too. I remember Hannah in the swimming pool when she was small. I stood in the shallow water, held her in front of me, then gave her a little push. She swam away, with furious little strokes, then turned and came back, again and again, lodging herself snugly in my arms upon return.

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