One of the standard conversations of middle age, for people with kids, is to politely ask how each others’ children are. And then, probably, where they are and what they’re doing. We have three young adult children from our household, two in college and one recently graduated. The recent graduate moved to upstate New York not long ago and is navigating the financial and emotional challenges of making herself at home in a new state. When talking about their geographies, I often get some version of the question, “How can you stand to have them so far away?”
Before I met Jim, for a while my family was just my two daughters and me. Then, in August 2018, they both left for school — the oldest to college in Massachusetts, and the youngest to finish high school three hours away, at Gatton Academy (a public, free, statewide boarding magnet school at WKU). They adapted and struggled and thrived, instantly thrown into new friend groups and teams. At home, living on 25 acres with animals as companions, I grieved their leaving, while at the same time I was proud and thrilled for them. I missed them. I wanted them to succeed.
I didn’t know how to be with my friends without my girls nearby. I had no one to drive around to soccer games, no one to make macaroni and cheese for, no one to take shopping, no one to laugh at the animals with. I missed watching Glee with them and even helping them struggle through homework. My grief at their absence was forceful and constant and overwhelming.
But I knew the alternative was worse.
When I was growing up, my oldest sister’s launch from the nest was less successful. Plagued by voices and depression and poor romantic choices, my sister struggled through college, transferring from Centre to UK to be nearer to mom and dad. She lived in Lexington and Nicholasville most of her adult life. She died three hours away from my parents, and she lived mostly within 30 minutes of them. Partly as a result of her proximity to our folks and partly because of our 12-year age gap, we never really had a sister relationship independently of them; I never had a sleepover at her house, and she never visited me when I lived out of state. When my girls left home, even when my loneliness (and undiagnosed sleep apnea) chewed through my sleep, I thought often of Jenny and was grateful that my girls were well enough to fly and build their own nests.
This week, my younger daughter headed north for her third year of college and stopped en route to stay a few days with her sister. They’ve shopped and cooked together, probably laughed at me together, and ranted together about all the animal fur at our house in Winchester. They’ve hiked and gone to the lakeshore to swim and play. They’re having a lot of fun without me.
And I’m having a great time thinking about them.
