September Tears

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...
is that ... time of year when children of all ages leave home for school.
This week, our ... year old daughter left home for what seemed like the ...
time. This time it w September is that ritualized time of year when children of all ages leave home for school.
This week, our twenty-two year old daughter left home for what seemed like the zillionth time. This time it was to return to college, and this time she left total chaos in her wake.
She had transferred to a new school and her hitherto well-understood leaving and packing process seemed forgotten. It was as if she had never been away before.
She experienced periods of anxiety followed by times of elation. According to her, she needed everything new and there were several significant altercations as her stepfather and I pointed out that what she already possessed was perfectly fine.
She took an extra job to earn money for what she wanted and she vacillated between pride in her accomplishments and anger that we weren’t giving her all that she asked for.At times, I burst with pride at the many wonderful things she did. Other times, I wondered where this “bratty” young woman came from.
She refused help with packing and for a week the entire house looked like a college dorm, although historically, her college room unlike her room at home, was in fact military neat. As parents who had been through school starting with several children before her, as well as many with her, we found ourselves surprisingly torn about how much help to give her.
Should we impose the much-needed structure that we thought she would benefit from, or should we respect her growing edge and let her do things as she saw fit? We wanted to maintain our feelings of good will and send her off with our support and blessings, but could we? Would she let us? Some days were easier than others. Sometimes she snapped at us.
Other days we snapped at her, and still other times, my husband and I snapped at each other. It was clear that her new adventure was both exciting and scary for her.
Since the decision to transfer to a new school was all hers, she tried to hold her anxiety inward and present a brave face to all.Her new roommate was someone she had known in her old school, but they had not known each other well. The girls, or shall I call them young women, made most of their own arrangements and although they lived in different cities figured out how to drive the several thousand miles they needed to go together.My husband endlessly and obsessively fretted and worried about the details that he knew they would have to deal with.
He made lists that the girls barely paid attention to as he worked out banking and travel links, downloaded map quest, and tried to instill a sense of order, all with little acknowledgment or thanks from the qausi independent females. Our other children had been far more generous in their responses to our efforts, as had she in the past, so the girls’ behavior was difficult to take.I focused on stressing academics, lecturing as little as possible and I tried to keep in check and remain silent about my constant terror surrounding their journey.
‘Do you have your charger for your cell phone’ was about as verbal as I got. Did I say it one hundred times, or just think it? I am not sure.Finally the big moment came.
A good-bye celebratory lunch and off they went. Relieved, that they were on their way, I wanted to applaud how well my daughter had done.
As her car pulled away, the all too familiar feeling came over me. My heart broke and the well-remembered September tears rained down my cheeks.
She may be almost all grown up, but she’s still my baby. I imagine I will smile and cry during these bittersweet moments forever.The house is quiet now -- and clean.
Order has been restored. I tell myself I like the quiet.
And, I do. So why do I find reasons to go into her empty room so often? I guess I miss her presence, chaos and all.
I imagine I always will.Life is too hard to do alone,Dr. D.
Dorree Lynn, PH.D. Source: Free Articles from ArticlesFactory.com .