Recently, my son reminded me that it’s been nearly a year since I last wrote a blog post. Not for lack of material, mind you. Quite a few significant events have taken place in that time.
For instance, I could share the story of when I accidentally sliced a part of my thumb off while using a mandoline slicer. I picked up the severed piece, reattached it, wrapped it in a paper towel, and actually debated whether I needed medical assistance. Spoiler alert: I ended up needing weeks of care. Only a true Italian would risk a finger for the sake of perfectly sliced eggplant.
I could also write about the moment I received a skin cancer diagnosis right after what I now call “The Mandoline Incident.” While my usual writing is light-hearted, I struggled to find a humorous angle here. But hey, I’m all clear now—take that, squamous cell carcinoma!
Another significant topic I could have explored is my oldest child graduating from high school. A monumental milestone, right? She was accepted into her dream school, the University of Washington, and our families came to celebrate her graduation. It was a lovely event, but I honestly can’t recall if I shed any tears.
This summer, she worked hard to save money, and we discussed everything she’d need for college. We bought new bedding and storage solutions, and I felt fine throughout the process. Even when we ordered her textbooks and shipped them to her dorm, I was okay.
But yesterday was different. We packed the car, took the ferry, and arrived at UW in Seattle. As we moved her into a bright, new dorm building and enjoyed dinner with her roommate and her family, everything felt fine—until the moment I hugged her goodbye. Watching her walk away, it felt like she was leaving her childhood behind and stepping into the unknown. Suddenly, I was not fine.
It’s as if an emotional hurricane hit me. I expected to feel sad when she left; after all, you can’t spend 18 years with someone and not miss them when they go. And yes, I feel the weight of worry. I used to know where she was at all times—her bedtime, her wake-up time, what she had for breakfast. Now, she’s in a big city, and I have no idea if she’s getting enough sleep, what she’s wearing, or if she remembered a jacket. The uncertainty is unsettling.
Alongside the worry, I feel guilt. I’m questioning every choice I made as a parent. Did I prepare her for the “real” world? Did I scare her too much or not enough? Will she keep the pepper spray in her backpack? Does she even know the post office closes at 5:30?
Then there’s the unexpected anger. I’m frustrated with the world for not prepping me for this moment. Throughout our parenting journey, we’re bombarded with advice—about newborn sleepless nights, toddler tantrums, and teenage pressures. But when it comes to sending a child off to college, the typical response is, “Oh, how exciting!” No one warns you about the emotional toll this milestone takes.
Yes, I’m thrilled for her. Yes, I want her to thrive. But that doesn’t soften the blow for me. So, to all parents of younger children, I’m sharing this truth: it’s tough. You’re welcome.
People often say, “At least she’s only an hour away.” But I quickly learned that it doesn’t matter if she’s an hour away or five—she’s still not here. The house feels too quiet.
I keep picturing my little girl walking toward her building, and in my mind, I’m pleading, “Wait! Turn around! Please, I need just a little more time!” But my time has run out, and all I can do is hope I made the most of it.
Despite my heavy heart and mixed emotions, I recognize the reality: I may need more time, but she doesn’t. She’s strong, intelligent, and ready to embrace the world. So, world, please take care of her.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, a mother grapples with the emotional turmoil of sending her child off to college. She recounts significant events leading up to this moment, exploring feelings of sadness, worry, guilt, and anger. Ultimately, she recognizes her daughter’s strength and readiness to face the world, while expressing her own longing for just a bit more time.