Let me explain.
This fall, we dropped our oldest off at school more than 1,000 miles from Jacksonville. It was a weekend of many, many, tears. I’m glad we left her younger siblings at home to bring her to her new school, because I don’t think I could have managed them and her nervouness, fear, anxiety, and overall sadness at leaving us. Fortunately, the school knew what to do: On the day of drop off, everyone met on the school hill — and students went to an ice cream social by assigned small groups, and parents were sent to a reception with a bar. “Give them a hug and go get a drink,” the administrators encouraged everyone in the bright evening air.
So, we hugged her, wiped her tears off her cheeks (GOD, THOSE WERE JUST BABY CHEEKS WHERE DID THE TIME GO), and headed to get some crackers and cheese and a cocktail.
The next day, we headed into the city near school, and the following day got on an airplane and flew home. I got on an airplane and flew home on my baby girl’s first day of school. Oy.
But before we even paid our over-priced baggage fee or returned the rental car, the texts started in a constant stream and didn’t let up for days.
She would text, “I want to come home. I miss you. Why did I do this? I miss my siblings. (Ha, that’s not what you said last week, girl!) I miss the dog. I miss my room. I’m soooooo homesick. Come get me. I can’t do this. I want to go home.” Over and over. And over. Over and over. And over.
This, from the child who never even wanted to spend the night at a friend’s house until she was in high school. I felt like I should have seen it coming, but the force of her emotions when she cried on FaceTime in her dorm room was overwhelming; we were upset she was so upset. Fortunately, the school has an excellent support system with advisors, dorm parents, faculty, and student services, and we availed ourselves of all of it, and so, thankfully, did she.
And slowly, the texts began to cease. First, it would be a day without one. Then a happy text about a class she did well in. Then maybe a sad text or two. Then two days. Then three days. Then finally I was the one reaching out to her, making sure she was good, trying to get her to reply with more than just a heart on my “I love you, I hope you have a good day!” text.
Finally, things got better. And I realized, as much as I love hearing from her, what I don’t want is to get a sad text or call. Every day I’d love to get a text or a call. But on the days that I don’t, I’m also happy. Because that means she’s happy.
