Saying Goodbye

“You want to move into the dorm tonight?” I asked with tears in my eyes.  “What is the big deal?” Gary asks.  “It is only a day early”.  “I am not prepared to say goodbye to you today”, I reply.   “Are you saying you will be better prepared tomorrow?” Gary quips back.  “You are acting very irrationally right now”, Gary complains.   “So what”, I retort back. Gary walks away shaking his head.  “Ok I will move just a few things in tonight and move in permanently tomorrow”, Gary says exasperated.  “Great”, I say with a big smile. Gary is totally bewildered.  He wonders where his rational, independent Mom has disappeared to.   I wonder the same thing.

My heart is breaking today!  Gary has been my mainstay since his father died of Lou Gehrig’s disease some 15 years ago.  Taking care of Gary sustained me through some very dark days.

For the past year I have tried to prepare myself for this day.  Contrary to all my experience, I still think I can prepare myself and mitigate the emotional fallout.   I am only deluding myself.  Still that illusion offered me some comfort until the storm hit.  The feelings of loss and despair wash over me like the unstoppable and relentless tides of the ocean.   Perhaps that is because the mind is no longer in control – only the heart is.  Perhaps the best preparation is to be found in enjoying our relationship with them to the fullest when we are able.  I am comforted somewhat because I think I have done that.

“All packed”, Gary shouts to me.  I haven’t been able to help Gary pack.  I started to cry every time I try.  In my defense he really isn’t taking much stuff with him.   I look into his room.  “I have never seen it so clean”, I say to Gary.  “It’s not that clean”, Gary replies.  “Well I have never seen it without some clothing laying on the floor”, I retort.   As I look around I start to cry.  I close the door to Gary’s bedroom quickly. I don’t think I will be entering that room much I say to myself.  The emptiness and the way it echoes reminds me too much of the hollowness I feel inside.

“I loved being a mother.  It was always what I wanted to be more than anything else in life”,   I say to Gary in the car on the way to his dorm.   “You still are a mother”, Gary replies shaking his head incredulously. “I guess you wouldn’t understand”, I say to him.  “I am not sure I understand it”  I say to myself.

I watch my son, Gary, walk away from me weighted down with stuff for his dorm room. He’ll be back in a minute to get more stuff from the car.  I am glad there is no parking and I have to wait in the car.  Gary returns and gathers up the last bit of his stuff from the car.  He turns and waves to me as he opens the door to the building.  I wave back.  He is saying good bye to me and I am saying good bye to a way of life that has fulfilled and sustained me for the past 33 years.  I feel empty and useless.   How do I even begin to fill that void?  Is it even possible?

This is very anti-feminist attitude I say to myself.   I don’t know why I care about this but it popped into my head. I think I imagined sharing these feelings with some of my feminist friends.  Are a devotion to motherhood or even motherhood itself and feminism incompatible?  I don’t believe they are but that is perhaps counter to main stream thinking.  Still I am not going to deny that my primary calling in life was to be a mother.  I feel so alone because I don’t know anyone who I could share these feeling with and who would understand how I am feeling right now or perhaps more accurately admit they understand.    This is one of those times in life when I really, really miss Brian, Gary’s Dad.  He would understand.

“You can do anything you want to do now”, my son said to me as we drove to his dormitory.  “I have been doing exactly what I wanted to do,” I replied.  “I really wish there was something that I am dying to do but there isn’t.  What I want to do and be a part of is going off to college right now”.   “Are you going to cry”, Gary asked. “No of course not”, I replied.   I know I need the relief that comes from having a complete meltdown but I don’t want to do that in front of Gary.  I resist the urge hoping for some relief later. I know the urge will hit me at the most inopportune time like when I am waiting in the check out line at the grocery store.

I have been dreading this day for so many years it is almost a relief that it has finally arrived. That relief is fleeting.  Just a few minutes later the grief, loneliness and panic set in again. I know.  I will just pretend he is spending the night – well several nights- at a friend’s house.   How’s that for honesty?

Powerful emotions swirl around inside me as I watch him walk into the dorm.  As I sit in the car, I watch people going about their daily lives – business as usual. It feels like my world has come to an end.  I feel like I am drowning in grief and sadness. Silly maybe but I have vowed not to judge my feelings anymore.

My head says it is time to let go.  My heart says not yet. Gary has taken the best and biggest part of me for the past 18 years and I was only too happy to give that to him.   Now maybe I will have more energy to devote to others and myself. Rationalizations are great but today change still feels like my enemy.

This is death to a special bond we shared, Gary and I. Sharing the bonds of daily living is broken whether we are sending them off to their first day of kindergarten or off to college. The thread that connects us becomes more and more frayed with each passing year until it finally breaks.  A new and different connection will be forged.  I know that. But I also know that different is good but not always better.    I still miss the little boy who was my best buddy and used to give me big hugs and kisses and confide in me.  If only I could come back later today and pick him up like I did after preschool!  I hope through the grieving process I will come to see this change in a better light but that is not possible today.

Gary is gone now – disappeared into the building with his last load of belongings.  This is the building he referred to as “home” on the ride over.   When he said that it felt like he had stuck a knife in my heart.  I almost said, “That is not your home.  Your home is with me”, but thankfully I resisted.  What a grand adventure for Gary!  He is so ready for this.  He looked so happy and excited.  That is what really counts isn’t it?  I feel a twinge of pride that I have done a big part of my job as a parent. I have prepared him to be independent.  In spite of all my sadness I feel strangely energized as well.  This can be the beginning of a grand adventure for me too I say to myself.   I put my forehead on the steering wheel and cry.  Do the challenges ever end I lament as I drive away.

Saying goodbye to our first grader, college student, lover, spouse, friend is always a great challenge for me.  What has your experience been?