Launching the Last One

The weather report for the day: cloudy, with a chance of sprinkles. That also describes exactly how I feel right now, dropping my son off for his freshman year of college, some 2,000 miles away from home. It's not just any son. It's my youngest. My baby.

He's as curious as he is scared about this new adventure. "Will I fit in?" he asks at breakfast. "I think I want to see you one more time before you go to the airport tomorrow," he says quietly at dinner. How much can a mother's heart take? Turns out, quite a lot. I know this is the best thing for him. I'm grateful I can send him to a fine institution of learning. I also know my anguish at this moment is a good problem to have. But no amount of rationalization can soothe my bruised heart.

As our last day together unfolds, my 'one more thing' speeches are getting up there in number. "Make sure you stay hydrated, it's super humid here. Locate your classrooms before the first day. Remember, all the other freshman are in the same position as you." Yada yada yada. His eyes glossed over a long time ago. He doesn't need me to remind him to get his class schedule, to set his alarm. That's his job now.

But I can't seem to shut up.

My best speech is the one about how he's on the bridge to adulthood now, and how sometimes it's going to be shaky... but there's a great new world on the other side. A world full of careers, adventures, love, his own family. I feel pretty profound, until I hitch up and lose it, hugging him tearfully, and wailing "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" " Yes, Mom," he says laughing, "I do."

Why is this so hard? I just did the launching routine with my daughter a few years ago, and I've been preparing myself for the proverbial empty nest. But I'm realizing, it's not just my son I'm saying good-bye to, it's my motherhood. Full-on, nurturing, loving, glorious motherhood. The best part of my life, the job I loved more than my wonderful career, is coming to an end.

My son is taking his last nap in my hotel room before we head out to drop him off at the dorm. The jet lag and excitement of feathering a new nest finally got to him (multiple trips to Bed, Bath and Beyond and Target will do that to a kid.) I watch him sleeping peacefully. I can't stop staring.

Suddenly, visual memories of the little letting go's of my son come rushing in like a movie going way too fast...

I'm leaving him at his first day of pre-school. There he goes off to his first sleep away camp. Now I'm dropping him off at his Dad's house after our sad divorce. My son's driving away in a car for his first driver's-ed lesson. There he is graduating from high school, and poof. He's 18.

It's time for the big letting go.

In my last act of full time motherhood, in these last few seconds, I summon all the strength I can and find resolve I didn't know I had, not to cry. "You know what?" I tell him. "You'll find where you belong. You're the kind of kid who's going to be OK. Trust me on this one."

He looks at me with those big beautiful brown eyes of his, smiles and says softly, "Bye Mom, I love you." I will myself not to cry, then I hug and release him. There he goes. I whisper into nothingness, "I'll be here if you need me." If you do your job well as a parent, your heart will break. It appears I've done my job too well.

A final image appears in my mind's movie... his first baby steps, superimposed with those he's taking now. I recall a saying I heard years ago; that you release your children from your arms, but never your heart. This is that moment.

Back at home, the joy of motherhood is so much smaller now. I make his bed, knowing it will stay made for once. I go to the grocery store and put back the strawberry milk I'm used to buying for him. My heart is heavy. Then, suddenly, I hear a ping. It's a text from my son, telling me he's having fun and he'll call soon. The world is suddenly brighter. Forecast: Sunny, far fewer sprinkles. And a new day begins...