Going Away

She tried to catch her breath, but nothing seemed to help. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at the doorway her husband and son just left through. He was gone. Her son was gone. They had decided it was best if mom not come to drop him off at college, and she agreed, but only because she knew she couldn’t handle it. She wasn’t ready for her first-born child to be grown, leaving her house. Her husband was overjoyed to go with his son on this journey to being his own man. She was left behind with her heart ripped out of her chest. Her heart, that just walked out the door and away from her home.

She stood in the entryway, wondering how to make the pain go away, remembering the first few hours after his birth. He was a whole five pounds fourteen ounces. His nose looked way too big for his tiny little face. He wasn’t a pretty newborn. His skin seemed to be a few sizes too big. He didn’t have chubby cheeks, great color, or rosy pouty lips. He was hers though. The most beautiful baby in the world.

She knew she was going to be a good mom. Her teen years had been consumed with babysitting. All the moms in the neighborhood fought over her weekend nights. Even as a young girl, she loved everything about the idea of being a mom. When she was little, she pretended to have quints and carried five dolls around with her everywhere. For as long as she could remember, she wanted to be a mama. The tiny little person in her arms made all her dreams come true.

The years went by all too quickly. She adored every stage. He was such a quiet baby, with big, questioning eyes. As a toddler, he kept her on her toes. He was always getting into something. She would never forget the sheer panic she felt the time he tore his chicken nuggets into small pieces and shoved them way up his nose as they drove down the interstate. She honestly thought they would have to go to the ER. As a child, he was intelligent, inquisitive, and funny. She knew deep down that he wasn’t actually the greatest child in the world, but to her, he was. He was the best, and she got to be his mom.

She closed her eyes. Pressed them together as hard as she could. Tears forcing their way out. She remembered spending hours of her life reading Ferdinand when her son was little. He would crawl into her lap with the deteriorating book, listening intently to the bull who didn’t fit social norms. In fact, at one point she had the book memorized. “The Story of Ferdinand” and “Mister Brown Can Moo, Can You?” filled her brain.

She no longer had the words memorized but she still carried the memory of the little boy toddling over to her with his favorites, knowing his mommy would stop her work, pull him into her lap, and softly croon the words to him. She remembered his straight brown hair tucked just beneath her chin; his quiet face turned toward the pages.

The teen years that everyone had warned her about came and left without any incident. He had delved into Minecraft, Legos, and skateboarding with a passion. One month during his sixteenth summer he went to bed and woke up 6’4”. It was wild. Girls were never the biggest thing on his mind, and he managed to avoid pulling away from her. They even had a monthly movie day, just the two of them. He was never too busy to go to a movie with his mom. They spent many evenings playing games, laughing, and talking. If this was having a teen, she was loving it.

One day, he turned eighteen, as all children do. Things changed. She could tell their relationship was different. He didn’t talk to her about every little thing in the car anymore. He missed a few movie nights here and there. Once, he saw the new movie with his friends instead. She was sad, but she understood. It was normal, everyone told her. Obviously, she wanted her son to grow up and be a successful man, but she didn’t expect it to hurt so badly.

That was the pain crushing her right now.

She didn’t feel like anyone prepared her for this. The parenting books never talked about what happened when the tiny person you lived your whole life for was suddenly grown. They talked about cracked nipples and potty-training troubles. Never about how to handle the big send-off. What was she supposed to do now? Only her laundry? Would she just never make pizza again? She hated pizza.

Snippets of moments flooded through her mind. She remembered standing completely naked in the shower, having the curtain ripped back by her four-year-old, demanding that she button his jeans because it was too hard for him. She remembered a small child sneaking to her side of the bed in the early morning while she was dead asleep, only to startle her awake then puke right in her face. She knew those aspects of being a mom. She remembered cleaning up the toy box because her toddler-aged son and his very young friend took turns peeing in it for reasons no one could communicate to her. Those were supposed to be the hard moments.

She knew being a mom was making a nice meal only for her son to refuse, despite him crying about how she was literally starving him just ten minutes before. She knew being a mom meant arguing with her teenage son about needing to go to the doctor, him refusing, even though he hadn’t even graduated high school and she had over 200 college credits including two separate licenses in medical fields. She was all too familiar with the work, the cleaning, the cooking, the driving to endless activities. She spent her entire thirties and most of her twenties tired. So tired.

However, she also knew being a mom was being the only person who could comfort her toddler when he fell and scraped his knee. She knew moms also got to watch with pride as their child said their lines in the fall production, camera in hand, quietly saying the lines along with them, beaming from ear to ear. She remembered the swell her heart felt when her teenage son casually told her the story of him standing up to his friends, saying no to drugs, like it was no big deal. In moments like those, moms are supposed to play it cool. The books and the blogs and all the mom groups told her to be cool. So she was.

True stories. All of them.

She stood in the entryway, staring at the closed door. She had heard their van drive away quite a while ago. It suddenly felt like her entire existence was finished. She didn’t have the first idea what she should do now. She was despondent. Her child didn’t need her anymore, not like he used to. He wouldn’t be begging her for a ride or asking her to wash his favorite shirt.

She glanced down at the phone in her hand that had just registered a notification. It was from her son. She opened the text message. A small smile spread across her face. The tears in her eyes glistened. It was a funny meme. She knew that for a while this would probably be the biggest part of their relationship. She knew the meme was his way of telling her he loved her, he missed her, and he was thinking about her. It didn’t take the pain away, only time would do that, and maybe a few grandkids, she thought playfully. However, it soothed her heart. Unexpectedly, she had the urge to read one of the hundred or so books she had acquired over the years, but never really had the chance to read. A good book and a long bath were in order.