Remember how we used to laugh when older parents talked about that "empty nest" thing? Sure we'd miss our kids when they got older and moved on. Yeah, right. And we also miss getting up six times a night with a colicky baby.

Well, as I began packing and planning for my oldest son Dan to go off to college, I felt what those parents warned me about. Maybe even more (and this, for goodness sakes, with an active 12-year-old still at home).

When my children were little, wishing for a weekend... heck, a day...or even just an hour to myself was a routine daydream. Because so much time and energy goes into the care of our children when they are young and as they first begin to make their mark in the world, every parent wishes for some downtime once in awhile.

Often depleted of energy and patience, we can sum up our thoughts with one heartfelt wish: Just let me sit with an umbrella drink in front of me, somewhere, anywhere, alone, for just five minutes, and not hear my name called, demands being made or whining coming through the walls.

Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.

Things have been pretty quiet at my house—something I have always cherished—for awhile now and I'm not sure I like it.
The quiet didn't happen overnight; it just happened when I wasn't looking. Dan had been driving for two years which means he had been enjoying his own life for awhile. Although home was his base of operations, he had friends and a schedule we found out about on an as-needed basis.

That's normal teenage stuff. We all get used to that, because it happens so slowly we're not all that aware. But now that I think about it, it's almost like a built-in weaning process.

Towards the end of high school comes the realization that this was all just a warmup for days to come. In a short time, these evanescent creatures will actually be going away somewhere for large amounts of time—and without us.

I'm not a clinging vine by nature but I caught myself thinking about turning into one. Could I really push him out the door and hold on at the same time?

For Dan and all the other children heading to college, work, the armed forces or MTV's "Real World," moving on is the right thing to do. There is no doubt in my mind they have to go. There's no other way for them to grow and become the mature contributing adults we have been trying to raise since conception.

But does it have to be so hard?

If I think back to when I was getting ready to go to college, mostly what I remember are all the preparations my mother and I made. What I don't remember noticing is how she and my father were facing up to this life change. Of course, my brother had made the break a couple of years before, paving the way for me, as he must have done in so many other unnoticed ways.

My mother and I spent a lot of time together that summer painting. For some inexplicable reason, I chose a pink and purple theme for my first college dorm room. Everything I took with me had to adhere to this strict color code—thus the painting.
When we left for college that first day, our big old Bonneville was chock full of pink and purple tables, hat stands and other necessary bric-a-brac to anchor me in my new world.

I was homesick a lot my first weeks at college, which is telling because I was only ever an hour from home. But to my mind, that was an eternity.

Dan had an advantage because his school, like so many others, planned a "wilderness" orientation for five days prior to his having to officially show up at school. He had a chance to get to know his fellow classmates while they bonded and team built to their hearts' content.

He has done fine on his own. I knew he would. It's me I'm worried about.

Maybe I should look into a wilderness excursion for mothers of children who are moving on. A little bonding time. A little team building. Say, a week or two in the Caribbean?

By Teresa K. Flatley
1999