Just Amy

I wish I had been blogging 12 months ago. I could have used the writing therapy. I was on the countdown to leaving Ethan in Lubbock at Texas Tech University (Wreck ‘Em!) a year ago today.

I was a hot, stinkin’, blubbery mess way too much of the time. There’s a knot in my stomach now just thinking back and trying to recall to put into words.

The summer was hard. I was desperate to get every moment in with him. I struggled not to cry looking at him when he didn’t even know I was watching. Taking pictures in my mind of him to tuck away into memories for later. And on top of it all, he was gone all.the.time. In June, he went to two half week camps for foster children back to back. Then left for a week long camp with foster children. (I had emergency gall bladder surgery at the end of this month that left me sitting and recovering while my mind ran away with me; idleness can be a monster.) In July, He had a week long youth camp, his last. And then a few days home and left again for a week long missions trip with student ministries, his last again. Upon return from those two weeks, we went to Ocean City, New Jersey for nearly a week for my nieces wedding. In August, I had about two weeks with him before taking him to college.

All the while, I kept thinking … I don’t have enough time.

I’m obviously no expert, but here’s five things I would say to the parents who are now where I was a year ago and leaving your first child at college.

Let them see your tears, but cautiously. Ethan needed to see he would be missed and it would be hard to let him go. It solidified his value in our family, his value to me as his momma and just simply made him feel loved and wanted. So when those waves of emotions came, I let him see me cry. Sometimes we laughed about it because the tears were over something silly. Sometimes there were tears and silence while I looked away trying to regain composure. Sometimes I look right at him and let tears fall while I explained my heart as his mom. But I believe he needed to see that I would miss him. But I was always aware to not cry so much or so hard to make him feel guilty for leaving. And I made sure, with my words, that he knew that my tears weren’t a lack of confidence in him or his ability. So I worked hard to save those uncontrollable cries for when I was in bed or the shower (lots of letting-it-go-in-the-shower cries) or when I was alone.

Talk to them about leaving. Not about how you feel as a parent but how they feel. And ask open ended questions. And if you get little response, pray for wisdom to know when to push and when to leave it alone. If your child is anything like Ethan, he was so ready and so excited. Often the answers were all about that. And be happy for them in those answers. Remember, no guilt about leaving. College and adulting is a good thing. But sometimes I would get some questions back on how to do things, how to deal with anxiousness and those conversations let me be a part of his process. To give motherly advice that he could take or leave but gave me so much peace in the permission to give it. But this is such a big step, he needed to know I was concerned about more than just my emotions.

Know it’s going to be hard to drive away. I mean freaking ridiculously hard. But probably not in the way you imagine. I had it all played out in my mind, over and over how I would be, how Ethan would be, what I would say to him as I hugged him. I felt like I was somewhat prepared. Yeah, I know, that was ridiculous of me to think that I was prepared. 

This is how it actually went: Ryan hugged him first. My super black and white, intense, logic wins over emotion all the time middle child. AND HE BAWLED. I was so shocked and moved by his reaction, I almost froze. Ethan just looked at me over Ryan’s lock-hug shoulder like “what the heck?” Then Aaron, the baby brother, hugged him; I still to this day don’t know what he said to him. I decided to let it start between them. Jason, my rock of a man who God gave to me for that reason, to balance out my emotional self, calmly hugged him, said a few things and then stepped back and just looked at me. All those things I had planned to say, all those wise words and expressions of how much I loved him and how proud I was of him got stuck in the lump in my throat and never came out. It was silent. Just tears streaming out of control. And all I got out was, “Love you.” I made eye contact with him, he fully emotionally in control, told me he loved me. And then I watched him walk into that dorm hall and disappear. It was a long, quiet 5-1/2 hours home. Ryan and I cried a lot of the way. And I tried to talk to Jason about how I was feeling and it seemed that every time I opened my mouth, those words just got stuck in my throat again.

But what can I tell you to encourage you about that day? I survived. And so will you. And I say that with the most tenderness and empathy. You can do this.

As best you can, surround yourself with people who are compassionate to where you are and how you are adjusting to your “new normal.” It is a “crossing over” moment in your family. He will come home again for breaks and summers and maybe even for a bit after graduation. But it will be totally different. You have to begin to learn to parent an adult. Uncharted territory. And it matters who is talking in your ear because you are emotional. And probably struggling a bit too. I was surprised at how touching some of the things people said to me. People I was close to and people I wasn’t. I valued the gentleness to my hurting heart. There were text messages I received on that weekend and the day we left him that meant the world to me. Karen sent me a picture of a trucker hat that just said, “Mommin’ is hard,” and checked in on me more than once around the days we left him in Lubbock. The night before we left him, Erica texted me about how it will be like “someone ripping my heart out” but I would survive it, and gave me permission to feel everything I was and would feel. A lady at church showed so much tenderness my first Sunday without Ethan and the compassion she showed me was moving … validating. And it gave me so much comfort. 

And lastly, you have to trust that you’ve done enough … and where you haven’t, God will take up the slack. We gave Ethan to the Lord as an infant. I was so aware of what that meant and in my heart hesitated to even do it out of pure love for Ethan (and maybe a little selfishness). Give him back to the Lord? I just got him! But I surrendered that day when he was two weeks old that I would support and allow God to use him however God planned. A lot of prayer went in to his college decision. I had no doubt we were leaving him where he was supposed to be. And I had to trust completely that he was in the Lord’s hands. If you read here too long, you will hear me say over and over, it doesn’t matter what I do, how hard I try, how vigilant I am, how much effort I put forth … if God has another plan … there’s nothing I can do to change it, not my successes or failures or anything. That thought in relation to this situation with Ethan: If my parenting (mine and Jason’s) was lacking in any way, our failures don’t override God’s plan for Ethan’s life. Will he learn so much the hard way? Sure he will. Have we fully prepared him for his adult life? I’m confident we have not. And if I believe that God has Ethan, really believe that, it makes the letting go a little easier. 

I’ve grown a lot as a mom in the last year. Still a ton of mistakes in parenting that almost 20 year old man-child. But I’m already dreading the 19th when we leave him at the townhome in Lubbock he will be living in for the next year. And I’m anxious to see how I will do with this goodbye.