Empty Nest Pt. 4: He’s Leaving Home AGAIN… Bye Bye

Dillon In Motion

There seems to be a pattern here: he grows up in a fly-by blink, goes off to achieve higher education; comes home for long summer breaks, but is then compelled to return to that other place he lives that is not here… not home. Though he tends to refer to it in such terms, I’d like to think that’s because no one’s there harping about laundry and keeping the bathroom clean.

It’s interesting how many times and ways you say good-bye to a child throughout their life. It seems to go on forever and maybe that’s the point: that the process of parenthood is evolutionary practice for letting go of so many other salient, important things… even life itself. I don’t know; that may be too heavy! But whatever else you can say about it, parenting is fraught with the demand to find balance between loving and letting go, and it always seems to find newer and ever more complex ways to test you at that.

It starts early, the pulling away; about the time of toddlerhood, when that three-year-old suddenly puts their foot down about a whole host of things (literally and figuratively). This streak of independence leads to the longer days of kindergarten, full-time grade school with after school programs; then middle school with its natural drift from family to friends, high school with more of the same (including, now, the full-time passion of puberty), all leading up to what one friend’s child called “really big boy school,” college, where all of life twists into the practice version of their truly leaving home. Brutal. Freeing. Confusing. Exhilarating.

In looking through my series on Empty Nest Syndrome (links below), I realize we, here, really are well past that initial rite of passage. He’s into his fourth year of a five-year program and if we hadn’t figured out by now how to gracefully transition from those long summer breaks to the exodus back to school, we’d be in trouble, because the next phase is fast approaching. The Actual Adult phase. When they move out, get a job, get their own place, maybe relocate to another city, fall in love, start building a life… on their own… no strings attached… no “breaks” to assuage the pang of missing them at the dinner table or seeing their bedroom messy, lights on and… occupied.

Me n' Dill 1998-9

Yes, we’re good at this latest transition. We barely blink. He packs up his car for the umpteenth time and heads north with nary a look back and before he can even make the turn onto the freeway, I’m into my day, to my work, to my own life; focused, driven… and with a big, fat, breath-choking lump in my throat. Goddamnit. Why does this still hurt??

Because, at least for me, lucky me, this person, beyond being my son, is one of the best friends I could possibly have. That person who walks into a room and lights up the place. Who sits on the couch and shares idiotic videos he’s sure I’ll find hilarious (and I do). The guy who listens and converses like an interested adult when we take long drives or get caught in traffic. Who introduces me to new hiking paths, turns me onto songs he claims “you’re gonna love,” brings home Pinkberry unexpectedly, or checks in on nights he knows I’m alone and a little blue. That kid. One likes having that kid around. And yet, he has to keep leaving…

I don’t cry anymore when he does. Sure, I tear up if I think about it for too long, but I’m busy enough and good enough at self-soothing to just get on with it. And, besides, we’ll be going up for Homecoming, he’ll be home for Thanksgiving, there’ll be that long Christmas break and, well, we still have a few semesters left. That bedroom will continue to be occupied for a bit longer, time we’ll cherish.

Because we know that, too, will end. And when that last grasp of childhood is finally exhausted, and he goes off as the grown man he is, responsible for his own life, I will feel that next layer of peeling away, of letting go; of saying good-bye. Seeing him off to his own house, with his own dinner table and his own bedroom. I can’t picture it yet, I don’t have to… yet… but it’s coming. Just like every other phase of his growing up has come and been embraced, however mixed the emotions. I will deal, as I always do. But, wow. Loving a child is a wild ride.

Drive safely, sweetheart. Stop if you get tired, check in when you can, don’t text and drive, and do good this semester. We love you and will see you soon. Bye, bye….(damnit, I can never find Kleenex when I need it… )

Me n' Dill 13

Younger Duo photo by Dean Fortunato
Older Duo photo by Ben Chandler
Skateboard photo by LDW

To read the entire series, click links below:

Empty Nest Pt 1: My Very Cool Roommate Is Moving Out…
• Empty Nest Pt 2: Empty ‘Next’ Syndrome…Coming Home
• Empty Nest Pt. 3: See You In November!
 •Empty Nest Pt. 4: He’s Leaving Home AGAIN… Bye Bye
• Empty Nest Pt. 5: It’s a Wrap… Well, Almost
Empty Nest Pt. 6, the Final Chapter: With Keys In Hand, He Flies…
LDW w glasses


Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Empty Nest Pt. 3: See You In November!

We left off last May, pondering the details of the First Summer Home Since College (Empty Next Syndrome…Coming Home); questions abounded as to how it would all go and how the family would or wouldn’t settle into the familiar but clearly altered paradigm of the family system. There was much anticipation and excitement and I was too knee-deep in the experience to write about it at the time. However, by end of summer I was reminded by several inquiring readers that I hadn’t actually answered my own question: how did that first summer home go? It seems Part 3 was in order.

family time_summer

I re-posted the original entry in this series, My Very Cool Roommate Is Moving Out, earlier this past summer, somewhere around the time when families everywhere were slowly beginning the dreaded/anticipated rite of passage called Changing Our Family System For the Rest Of Time…or, to put it less hyperbolically, Our Child’s First Year Away At College. Given that I was now a Second Year Parent and looking at it from the other side of the chasm, the many responses I got to the re-post reminded me of just how sharp the edges of this transition are, particularly for mothers, and there is no soft-pedaling the impact it has on those who, up to the moment of driving away from campus with one less person in the car, were laser-focused on the now-missing Boy or Girl.

It’s brutal for some, heartbreaking for many, and certainly a significant life-change for all. You’re handing your singlemost precious entity over to the great big world, out from under your roof, your care, your passionate supervision. You’re trusting in cafeteria food and campus clinics. You’re putting faith in everything you imparted about drugs, alcohol, being responsible and not risking life and limb for the heady freedoms of college living. You’re wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’ that this love of your life will prove resilient and smart enough to flourish and survive without your management skills and with the ones you taught them. It feels like an unbelievably high-stakes crapshoot but ultimately we know it’s a stacked deck — in our favor. You did good getting them there and they’ll do fine with the cards in their hands.

But still….I know…First Year. It’s tough.

So the boy came home in May. After nine months away, he arrived with bags and boxes, too much facial hair, a bonsai that survived the dorm, and a big, fat smile that told me how happy he was to be home. I felt my shoulders relax, my heart calm and something inside me welled up at the realization that he was still my kid, my boy, the person I most adored. Once he was unpacked and the room resembled the hurricane debris field so familiar from the high school years, I knew it was on. Summer After the First Year of College.

Habitat for Humanity_Dillon

And lo and behold…it felt exactly like all the summers previous. Except for the summer job focus (which didn’t turn out as well as expected through no fault of his own), the days were filled with late, lazy mornings, times with the Girlfriend (high school GF amazingly sustained through the First Year Away), an admirable stint building houses with Habitat for Humanity, glorious beach days with friends, disc golf and card games with the crew, family gatherings and dinners, one or two movies with Mom, and those golden moments of just sitting together on the couch sharing Internet discoveries, working on websites, or watching favorite TV shows (those moments, from my point of view, were too few, but, oh, they were precious). For many unavoidable reasons we couldn’t manage the usual Family Trip Away, the only time and place we get him all to ourselves, but we enjoyed the time we had. He was attached, warm, remarkably lovely and, by and large, unchanged from the boy who left the summer before.

You know who changed? Me.

I didn’t mean to. It didn’t happen overnight, I didn’t even notice when it did happen. I certainly wasn’t planning on it; in fact, it seemed unfathomable. I kinda wanted to hold on to that version of Mother/Child attachment I had, the one that carried over from birth to that gut-wrenching moment we first left him on campus. But like any state of being – the anger you can’t sustain after a days-old fight, the excitement that lessens after weeks on a new job; the grief that ultimately diminishes at some point after a loss – that Mother/Child attachment and the loss felt at letting it go does shift and change…until it literally becomes another version of itself.

263851_1771301771790_844397_n

Your role as a mother is redefined; their role as the child is as well. Hell, even your role as a person melds and molds into something different. Suddenly the grief and the searing sense of losing something too precious to lose is replaced by new paradigms that unconsciously take into account the changing circumstances and life fills in the void. You still miss him, you still find his empty room a bit of a shock, but slowly over time the days are filled less with thinking about what he’s doing and more about what you’ve got to get done. Projects shelved until “later” become front burner, the dining room table becomes less about meals and more about framing those prints you’ve wanted to get up since last year. The knee-jerk impulse to pack a lunch, ask what time he’ll be home, or arrange your day around his schedule is replaced by first-morning thoughts of finishing the garden, getting to yoga or meeting your old work-mate for lunch. It’s gradual, it’s ever-so-subtle but like good therapy, it’s a seamless, ephemeral transition only noticed in retrospect. You continue to love the phone calls, the texts, and Skype chats; you relish planning the trips home and the visits to campus, but you gradually find your life is no longer a swirling eddy of focus and attention on all-things child. The fact is, you’ve gotten on with it…just as you should.

By the time summer was over and he left for Year Two, I felt the expected twinge as he drove away (got there on his own this time!), but not much of one…certainly not like last year. I was now confident that he’d essentially be the same person when I saw him next and, frankly, I needed to get the sheets done and on with my incredibly busy day.

Sound cold? Make you feel even a little guilty, as another mother admitted? Shouldn’t. It’s evolution, plain and simple; Mother Nature doing her self-preserving thing.

When I was about three months pregnant, I remember looking into the empty room that was to be his, overwhelmed with a feeling of, “Oh, dear God, there’s going to be a person, an actual living person in there in a few months and what the hell do I know about taking care of an actual person who’s going to non-negotiably LIVE with me for the next couple of decades??!” It was science fiction, that’s how strange and unimaginable it seemed at the time. And yet, by eight months I was calm and ready to get on with it; by nine I couldn’t wait. It was then I realized how truly brilliant Mother Nature is, the way she so wisely manages our evolution to assimilate, cope, and ready for the big changes in our lives. And just as we mothers are given nine full months (in most cases) to ramp up to the enormity of the task we’re taking on, the gestation period of the college chapter 18 years later is our time to learn how to successfully let go and move beyond that first incarnation of the job. The Motherhood Bookend, if you will. Bringing Them Home then Letting Them Go. There’s a sad but sweet symmetry there.

A woman named Patricia wrote me after reading Part 1, sharing her story and stating that, indeed, family and friends had assured her things would ultimately change for the better but, on some level, she didn’t really believe they ever would. Her grief at letting go of her precious son was aching and palpable and so reminded me of my own story. I remembered feeling, like her, that no one could fully understand the agony of my experience and it was impossible to believe it would ever feel natural or right. I wondered how other families – who’d clearly survived the transition – had managed to do so when I felt like a death had occurred. The gravity of Patricia’s pain and heartache very much resonated with me so I write Part 3 to honor her journey, to acknowledge and recognize what she is going through, but to also assure her — from a very authentic, been-there/survived-that place — that, just as family and friends assured, it truly and resolutely does get better.

You will look back at some point and realize the truth of that and be ever so grateful for the evolution. It will allow you to redefine your role with your child, to come up with new formulas for how to be the Best Mother You Can Be to an Almost-Adult Child, leading to the Best Mother of a Fully Adult Child when that time inevitably arrives. They’re each different job descriptions, different paradigms; they require fresh thinking and new responses. They demand that we stay in present time with our children and see them as the people they are now, not the person they were then. It seems so simple and expected but it’s stunning how many families struggle with the awkwardness and fumbling discomfort of these changes. It’s Dill's Ultimate Frisbee Dudesunderstandable, that struggle, but since the changes are inevitable, it’s advisable to get a jump on it! Take the gift of these college years, so generously offered by Mother Nature, to slowly but surely learn the parameters of your new role. By the time you actually get to their Fully Adult part, when they’ve moved into their own home, are paying their own way and struggling with their own transitions into their new roles as independent men or women, you’ll have a tremendous head start, ready and able to help them through it all. And they’ll need it!

So until then, I’m swimming in writing projects, finally getting my photography website slowly but surely built (more on that later!), rehearsing with a new band, enjoying my stepdaughter and her family, making time for those power walks and trying to squeeze in a movie or two with my husband. As for my Second Year Son? He’s doing great in school, loves his new off-campus apartment, is reveling in the Ultimate Frisbee team he joined and continues to enjoy the GF and various crews he’s accrued. He’s happy so I’m happy. It’s been a good second year so far for all of us…see you in November, sweetheart!

All photos courtesy of Lorraine Devon Wilke 

To read the entire series, click below:

Empty Nest Pt 1: My Very Cool Roommate Is Moving Out…
• Empty Nest Pt 2: Empty ‘Next’ Syndrome…Coming Home
• Empty Nest Pt. 3: See You In November!
 •Empty Nest Pt. 4: He’s Leaving Home AGAIN… Bye Bye
• Empty Nest Pt. 5: It’s a Wrap… Well, Almost
Empty Nest Pt. 6, the Final Chapter: With Keys In Hand, He Flies…

LDW w glasses


Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Empty Nest Pt. 2: Empty ‘Next’ Syndrome…Coming Home

The 19-year old boy-man is coming home for summer break, his first substantial period under our roof since leaving for college in August of 2010, and this event is something to both ponder and celebrate. What used to be a given – his being a daily part of family life – is now a novelty. A delightful novelty, but a novelty nonetheless.  As the woman who birthed the boy, I am left to ponder: how on earth did that happen?

me_&_baby_Dill_001I remain unconvinced that growing up and leaving home is just a required part of the program. In my own case it was but in his…well, somehow it strikes me differently. I’ve always felt if it ain’t broke don’t fix it and we had a pretty unbroken thing going. He was a delightful companion, a relatively responsible roommate (though I admit the early years with the diapers and spoon feedings were a tad one-sided), a stellar entertainer and quite the flexible traveler. There were tantrums, I admit, occasional lapses in academic devotion and the limited food palate could be a challenge, but he was never incorrigible and generally thought we adults were cool.  He was like living with your best friend through the various stages of your best friend’s life right down to the moment he figured out HTML and could build your website — then it just seemed silly to let him go.

But fine. Growing up is mandatory. I get it; I applaud it even, and find this grown child of mine as captivating as the two year old. Which prompts another twist: I still want to hang out with the two-year-old – and the seven-, ten- and 13-year-olds – while I’m living in present-time with the 19-year-old (imagine that scenario: the adult child wrangling his younger selves while I make grilled cheese and chatter happily with my gaggle of time travelers!). Since this option is not offered, the bigger conundrum becomes the current child’s step-by-step and apparently inevitable departure from home. From where he sits, leaving home is an exciting, open-ended adventure to the rest of his life. From my perspective, it’s as if my job description suddenly hit planned obsolescence and, like that aging salesman who’s walked gently to the door with a gold watch in hand, I’m unclear of my relevance in this new era of child development. Empty ‘Next’ Syndrome.

King Dillon

But life is a constant work in progress and I’m leaning into the phase. The truly painful early months post his departure were followed by eventual, if begrudging, acceptance and early-stage construction of a new life formed around the childless home. And it’s a good life. I’m busy and creative and often find the freedom exhilarating. I have more time to myself, more time with my husband, the house is neater, and I don’t have to make school lunches every night. I find true pleasure in knowing how happy he is and how well he’s doing in school. Yes, there were the sometimes-awkward campus visits when he sweetly made time despite his clear preference to be with friends; the less awkward visits home when he simply was with his friends. I see him try to find the balance between being a considerate son and one who’s rushing inexorably toward the pull of independence. And as much as I cringe at being seen as any kind of obligation, I’m touched that he’s aware there’s a balance to be found. It’s all new territory and the scriptless nature of it will continue into our first summer break.

And what will that be? Will it feel like he’s just visiting for longer than usual between semesters or like he actually still lives at home and just goes away to school from time to time?  I want to believe the latter. I’m pretty sure it’s the former.

cartoon Dill by Ashley Yamasaki rAs we edge closer to this second chapter of Empty Nest, what’s coming into view is the reality that once the child leaves home for that first school year away, nothing is ever quite the same. We will get into familiar rhythms of dinner around a good movie, card games at the table, hikes down to the jetty, meals and plans and trips together, and it will be wonderful and I will cherish every moment. But unlike before—when this was just OUR LIFE, when time stretched before us so wide and open and whatever happened today might happen again tomorrow and we didn’t need to talk about it or look too far ahead because it was just there, unfolding naturally every day; Family. Mother, Father, Son—what it is now is…I don’t know. I’m not sure. We’ll see. Send suggestions.

Because that’s the chapter we’re on. Transitions. Coming back, leaving. Coming back, maybe for a shorter period, then leaving again. Coming back perhaps briefly, then leaving…maybe for good. It’s the damn circle of life and while we gather ’round Pride Rock and sing in celebration of growth and change and finding our way on the path unwinding, it hurts like a mother to let go of this child.

Here’s a question that was posed to me the other day by someone who meant well but clearly hadn’t been down this road to know the quirks: “Whaddaya want? You want your son to stay at home for the rest of his life, live in his room, never leave, always hanging on to you and his Dad?” Um…kind of? NO…hell, no! Stupid question. Reread my paragraph about wanting him simultaneously at all ages of his life and you’ll get what I want, mister.

Dillon&posse_April2011

What I want to happen is exactly what is happening. I want him to embrace his adulthood; slowly, unfolding his passions to discover who he is and what he wants to do with his life. I want him to have an absolute blast in college (within parameters, of course!), do well by his academics and learn a thing or two in the process. I want him to make great friends he’ll probably have for the rest of his life. I want him to continue to discover the wonders of love, taking the lovely manners he’s modeled from his father to always be the loyal, considerate, honorable boyfriend he already is. I want him to be an optimist, an activist, a person who isn’t afraid to stand up and speak out against injustice. I want him to find meaningful work that allows him to make a living doing something he loves. I want him to stay healthy, humorous, honest, and humble. (The 4-H’s. There are other letters but I liked the ring of those!) Basically, I want him to continue on his course of growing up, which he is doing spectacularly.

And yet…I still want my boy. The paradox of motherhood, yes?

Books and articles and other mothers tell me I will always be needed, will always be somewhere on his radar. I believe that. I trust that my son will be a good adult son. He’s already a good almost-adult son and that he’s doing even with the distractions of college, love, and his first year of independent living. He seems to understand the paradox and finds ways to bridge the gaps: he set us up to play Internet Scrabble, allowing him to literally (as in words) kick my ass daily; we’re Facebook friends, he texts whenever there’s something of note to report, and he actually sounds happy to hear from me when I call. And though he’s not great at returning emails and we sometimes go too long between conversations, he still tells me “we’re best friends, Mom.” I’m counting on it, sweetheart.

kayaking

He’ll be home in a few days for three months. It feels like a glorious lifetime of time. I plan to use it well. We’ll all use it well. And when it’s over, I know it won’t be as painful as the last time he said good-bye. Empty Next. We will stumble through, figuring it out; it’ll get easier.

Cue the singing wildebeest….

____________________________

To read the entire series, click links below:

Empty Nest Pt 1: My Very Cool Roommate Is Moving Out…
• Empty Nest Pt 2: Empty ‘Next’ Syndrome…Coming Home
• Empty Nest Pt. 3: See You In November!
 •Empty Nest Pt. 4: He’s Leaving Home AGAIN… Bye Bye
• Empty Nest Pt. 5: It’s a Wrap… Well, Almost
Empty Nest Pt. 6, the Final Chapter: With Keys In Hand, He Flies…

All photos courtesy of Lorraine Devon Wilke

LDW w glasses


Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.