The College Drop-off

I watched my neighbor Tom load the last few things into their Suburban. Their daughter was going back to school that day.

There is no time of year that ignites more anticipation, melancholy, and yes, relief than back-to-school time—especially when it involves packing your child to go off to college and not simply packing a bologna sandwich with a juice box for Stewart School.

First time adventures are always the most heart-wrenching. So when my husband and I prepared to drop Samantha, our eldest child,  at Lehigh her freshman year we were inwardly anxious, and outwardly nonchalant.

Based on stories from more seasoned parents I was prepared to say our final good byes with some tears. I had rehearsed the scene over and over  in my mind. Sam and I would hug and I would assure her that she would be great. My eyes would well-up  and my husband would remain stoic and consoling. And as we drove away I would reminisce about her very first day at Locust school and my husband would tell me it would all be okay. It was time to let her go.

But as the final seconds ticked and I was about to enact my own Lifetime movie drama, my husband burst into the ugly cry—the widow’s sob. And because I knew  it was unhealthy for my daughter to witness two slobbering fool parents I was forced to become the stoic consoling one. My tear ducts seized-up instantly. I completely flipped into the rational mode and dealt out tissues.

I was the one behind the wheel in the Suburban—comforting my husband by reminding him that we had prepared her well—she was ready.

My long anticipated magical moments turned into stolen thunder—the finale had gone all wrong.

And Friday I kissed Kara good-bye as she headed off for her senior year at Emory. It was the last college good-bye kiss of my lifetime.

I am a little bit sad over it. The school-time phase of my life that began in September of 1992 is officially complete.

But at least I may still look across the street. Their Suburban will continue to be packed for another 5 years. Each August, the view will twist my heart. But I will remember that all beginnings have endings and all endings are new beginnings. And as long as the story ends happily ever after, it doesn’t matter which actor played the parts—it matters only that you had the production.