Queen of Denial
It’s Thursday night at 8:30, and in 36 hours my son will be leaving for college. Nothing’s been packed and his laundry’s just now being washed, almost as if this isn’t really going to happen. We did do a bit of shopping last weekend to acknowledge in at least some small way that he’s going someplace different—a place where he’ll need his own wastebasket.
I’m not going with him on Saturday. His father hasn’t seen the campus, so we agreed he would take him. When Michael and I thought it through, we realized there wasn’t much point to my coming; it’s not as if I was going to unpack him or make his bed like I did when I dropped him at overnight camp. With his father there, I wouldn’t be having a meal with him, either. After weighing the pros and cons, we decided I would stay home.
“Saying goodbye isn’t going to be any easier there,” he said.
I suppose not.
People have been asking since the beginning of Michael’s senior year how I felt about his going to college.
“Excited for him,” I say.
“But how do you feel about him leaving?”
Hunh. It really hadn’t occurred to me.
I don’t think either of us has examined our feelings about the separation, which is now imminent, it seems. My psyche is spectacularly adept at keeping certain feelings out of view until they really need to be looked at, or until I’m ready to face them. I’m well-known for my stoicism, which I’ve put into practice too many times with my chronically ill middle son and his myriad exotic and life-threatening complications. It’s not intentional: my subconscious just happens to be clever enough to protect me from emotional trauma.
But the time’s come to lift the shroud on this event and see what’s hiding beneath. How will I feel?
The thing is, though I’ve been careful not to parentify him, this particular child has always been unusually emotionally mature—since he was a baby, really. He displayed a joy in connecting with adults that I never saw in my other children; this has been obvious to many of his teachers and other adults in his life. Over the past several years that I’ve been a single mom, he’s essentially been the second adult in my house (though, rest assured, he has, on occasion, behaved plenty childishly).
In some sense, it’s not a child who’s leaving; it’s been so long since I’ve viewed him as that. Put it this way: he’s my son, but I’m not so sure that I could aptly describe him as my “child,” if that makes any sense. Anyhow, I’ll still have two children at home, one practically a baby. I don’t think it’s the notion of one of my birds flying the nest that bothers me. (This may not be true eight years from now when my little one goes.)
What I’ve been slowly realizing is traumatic enough to be repressed is that this adult presence—this exceptionally fun and interesting person—won’t be here. Despite my intention to maintain at least some sort of maternal stance with him, interactions in the parenting realm comprise about 5% of our time together and are generally limited to my nagging him about tasks related to starting college. Beyond that, between my never having really grown up and his never having really been a child, we are essentially friends and, to a small extent, confidants. (There are things about his mother a boy does not want to know, and things about himself a boy does not want his mother to know. Anyhow, I think being too much of a buddy with your kid is kind of icky.) In many ways, he’s my only ally in the house, the only person who cares to connect with me as a human being and not just a means to an end.
As I write this, I realize that we are so attached, and is such a positive way, our contact surely will be frequent. I don’t fear losing him to the real world—I genuinely look forward to seeing how he makes his way in it, and to hearing about each surprising thing he learns about himself.
So what’s the big trauma then? Aside from the fact that I’ll miss his company, it sounds as if it’s all good.
Except for one thing: when he’s gone, I’ll be alone.
August 29th, 2008 at 11:17 am
Interesting perspective. I really enjoyed reading this. My oldest child leaves in less than 24 hours. Not one item has been packed and the trash can never occurred to me. Surely, one of the other 3 roomates will have one. How do I feel – I have no idea. I don’t know if I will be crying or celebrating on the trip home. I think I’ve convinced myself that this is more like going to boarding school. It’s a small college. He’s only an hour away. We can visit whenever we want. This morning on a walk, my friend ( with 2 kids in college) said “This is big Julie. This is a big deal. It will never be the same. They come home, but just to visit.” I guess I’ve been in denial too. I better go buy some kleenex.
August 31st, 2008 at 6:05 pm
Wow. I am so not ready. Will be going through this experience next year. I am seriously dreading it, already. I think that my son’s departure—while I will be full of pride and happiness for him—will be largely an opportunity for me to feel guilty about everything I DIDN’T do while he was still at home—all the missed opportunities, the ways that I failed him.
I tend to feel guilty about everything anyway, and never live up to my own expectations of motherhood—but I think that the fact that BetsyG and the first commenter aren’t overwhelmed with sadness says more about feeling good about the job you’ve done as mothers. Sure, there’s got to be some denial there, but what I read is that you’re confident that things won’t change that much—and that you have deeply positive feelings about where things are at in terms of the relationships you have with your sons. I say, bravo.
I do have a good relationship with my son, but I don’t think he’ll “come back” to me in the same way once he’s gone. I am going to do everything I can to make his last year at home full of happiness and good memories. It’s all I have left. Maybe, if I do it right, I’ll actually be in a good place with him leaving. Maybe?
September 1st, 2008 at 8:16 pm
It’s true that our kids won’t really ever come back in the same way. I think the first step on that path is the first time they take the keys and drive alone.
Oh, M. Don’t put that pressure on yourself to make this year something out of the ordinary. He has a lifetime of memories, and you’ll know if you did a good job if he’s a happy and well-adjusted person. (Though I’m sure plenty of good parents’ children end up as miserable, floundering adults.) I do think that making the college search experience a positive and supportive one will set him on a good path. (Believe me, I wanted to take Michael by the throat and tell him where to go to school. My tongue has a hole in it from the biting.) Work with him, show him you trust his judgment, let him make the decision, and I think that’s the best preparation for his leaving that you can do.
(Oh jeepers. It’s September already. Maybe you’ve already done all that. Where does the time go??)