Hold On (Roxy)

It was the summer of 1996. It was the last time my parents would drop a kid at college and the first time I would be leaving the only house I had ever known. I wasn’t scared; I actually felt really excited.  I remember my parents driving me down to Indianapolis, sharing nuggets of wisdom along the way. Never drink out of an open container. Use the buddy system at parties. Don’t walk alone on campus at night. Of course these were things I already knew, but I listened anyway. 

I remember how miserably hot and humid it was as they helped me carry my belongings up three flights of stairs where my roommate and her parents were already unpacking and arranging furniture. After a while, her parents said their goodbyes quickly while my father set up the box fan that was to be my saving grace during August and September. Once the blades were spinning, my mom sort of looked around, opened her arms for a goodbye hug, and said, “Looks like you’re all set. You don’t need us hanging around anymore.” 

Wait! What? Hold on a second! The parents must have all gotten the same memo, because they were all clearing out pretty quickly. Students had a full schedule of orientation activities to attend starting that afternoon.

Before they left, I remember hugging my mom tightly for a longer than normal amount of time. My dad wrapped his arms around both of us because he really had two girls to console at that point. We both teared up a little bit. All three of us said “I love you,” and then… they left me.

The six-year-old inside of me wanted to shout, “Hold on! I’m not ready yet!” But my mom was right. I was all set. They had done their jobs, and I didn’t need them hanging around anymore at that point.  

I was 18, and I had freedom for the first time. No one would be there reminding me to do the things I already knew. No one would hover over me concerned for my health or safety. Finally, I was about to be able to make my own choices and live my own life; but that is a heavy reality.  One I had never carried alone. I felt the tears welling up. I cried the instant they left my room. I sobbed, actually. Right there on my extra-long mattress, in front of a girl I barely knew (who didn’t cry when her parents left). I held up my index finger signaling that I just needed a minute to pull myself together, but it was more than a minute. I cried so hard for so long that day. It was laughable! 

I shouldn’t have been scared. I should have been excited, but instead, I cried until I couldn’t see straight because the truth was I had no idea what I wanted to do, or how I would tackle all of these college activities that would be “firsts” for me. Everything felt so final, yet so brand new at the same time. It was overwhelming.

Thankfully my roommate dragged me away to one of the many freshman activities that kept me busy enough to get through that first week of college. Classes began. Weeks passed more quickly, and it didn’t take long before I learned that Thursday was the new first day of the weekend in a college town. Friend circles grew larger and stronger. Sorority sisters turned into best friends. One roommate turned into six more roommates over the stretch of the next four years. These complete strangers from all over the country became my new family. 

We took turns filling the voids in each other’s lives after our parents dropped us off on move-in day back in 1996. We studied and attended classes together. We shared meals, fashion tips, and even textbooks to save money. We swapped sweatshirts, formal gowns, and everything in between. We took leadership roles on campus, got involved in our new community, and fed off of each others’ positive energy. Even though we were young, we took turns parenting each other, protecting one another, and offering much needed perspective; all of the important jobs formerly done by our parents. I guess my point is that everything worked out pretty well.

Now, here I am again thinking about college; but this time it’s for my son, at a university EIGHT times the size of the one I attended. I’m more than a couple of decades wiser, and I’m able to acknowledge my true feelings instead of the ones I think I should be having. I am incredibly scared and equally excited for him; but I’m also feeling a little lost as to where I fit in to the rest of the narrative. His narrative. 

It is the spring of 2022. As I write this, Brian is driving our family of four to South Carolina. This will be our last spring break trip with Grayden before he leaves for college in the fall. I can only hope he finds the same tribe of friends at Purdue that I found in college. I highly doubt that he will cry when we leave his dorm room. He is more independent at 18 than I am at 44.

I just wonder what he will do with all of his new found freedom. I know Grayden will love the pre-veterinary program. He will most likely spend a lot of time in the art department creating sculptures and ceramic pieces. Selfishly, I hope he finds his way into a theater group, so we have reasons to visit. All of those thoughts spark excitement, but I’m still so apprehensive when I think of not being with him every day.

Since he is our first child heading off to college, I keep wondering what I do now as the mom of a college kid? When I stood in his shoes, my parents had practiced this already. They simply stepped out of their roles as my main influencers, and they began swooping in for the occasional cameo. If they struggled adjusting to this, they didn’t show it. I saw them on parents’ weekend, homecoming, sorority fundraisers, and of course holidays. In a nutshell, they showed up on command and generously wrote tuition checks to the university where my story played out. I don’t think I ever appreciated them as much as I do right now.

I knew they were there for me, but from a distance. Soon Brian and I will take a back seat to everything in Grayden’s life. It’s already happening. He will replace us with a core group of friends; as he should. We just have to step back and trust that he will make good decisions, which we do. However, the reality of this is feeling heavy once more. Our first born is going to college. He is leaving, and life as we know it is changing again. 

As I experience the first of many “lasts,” I’m feeling the emotions that come with them. Grayden’s last year of high school is wrapping up. His last big musical just came to an end, and his senior prom is only a month away. I’m excitedly planning his graduation party and holding out for commencement. And yes, I know commencement means “the beginning” for Grayden, but it feels like a big fat ending for me! 

I keep telling myself to appreciate each of these activities before they pass. I tell myself I keep snapping pictures to hold onto the memories we are making at this important time in his life. But since I’m being honest, I’m really trying to hold on to him.