Hey Friend,
How are things? I am seriously considering putting the heating on, the temperature has dropped that much… But that consideration lasted for a second before being quickly discarded, because it’s only September and I refuse to turn up the heat until at least mid October. Yep, it’s all jumpers and fluffy socks in my house and throw in a few star-jumps. That’ll keep you warm.
For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been mentally preparing for my eldest, Older Miss, to head off to university and leave home.
On Sunday, the big day had finally arrived.
OM had packed the whole world, apparently unable to live without her summer clothes (“I don’t want to pack again in the summer!”), her desk tidy (“Where am I going to put all my pens?”), or her evening dresses (“What if there’s a fancy party to go to and I don’t have them?”).
We packed two cars with all her things and made the two hour drive down south.
The sun shone as we sped along the motorway and OM was in high spirits while I tried to ignore what was coming.
I flashed back to when I left uni and I found it so hard to say goodbye to my little circle of friends. A couple of them actually laughed at me for getting upset (no surprise that we’re no longer friends), but it was knowing that it would never be like that again. I would never have my closest friends right there like that again. We were all returning to our various parts of the country and the shortest journey was still an hour and a half away.
I had to make peace with that. Just as I have to make peace with the fact that it won’t be the same at home without OM randomly singing songs from the Lorax movie, dancing and shaking her bum at any chance she gets or eating Rice Krispies like they’re a limited edition delicacy and we have the last box.
Silliness aside, I’ll also miss her willingness to help around the house, her stern yet loving pep-talks to her siblings and the verbal equivalent of banging heads together when Little Miss and Little Dude were arguing.
Two hours flew by and before we knew it, we were parked outside halls – OM’s new home. She picked up her key and welcome pack and we had a quick look at the room before heading back to the cars for all of her ‘essentials’.
I wanted to have a moment alone with her but it didn’t work out that way. Instead, we all left the room together to check out the [shared] bathroom (OM is NOT happy about that…), the tiny kitchen and the laundry room, which is in an outbuilding at the back of the halls. Unfortunately for us, there was a keypad on the wall. Little Dude warned us that if we closed the door, we wouldn’t be able to get back in. I actually told him it was fine..!
It wasn’t fine.
We finished looking at the laundry room (lots of machines and free!) and went to pull the door which of course, was locked. My brother asked OM, “Do you have a fob?” OM replied “Yes – it’s upstairs in my room…”
Oh, how we laughed! Ha. Ha. Ha.
Thankfully, the gate behind the laundry room was open so we could walk around the main building to reach the carpark once again.
And then the part of the day I was dreading arrived.
LD hugged his older sister tightly, not wanting to let go; LM too, unable to hold back the tears as she got into the car.
I hugged my firstborn tightly, wondering how eighteen years had passed by so quickly. Surely it wasn’t that long since she was born? A few months since she started Reception? A few weeks since starting secondary school wearing that too-big blazer that she’d grow into? Surely she’s not now eighteen and leaving home?
But she surely is.
I did not cry. I told her I loved her, that I was so proud of her. I told her to be great.
We got in the cars and drove home and only when we were a suitable distance away did my eyes well up with tears.
I read somewhere when OM was still a baby, that as parents, all that we do and teach them is preparing them to leave us. Maybe that sounds cold but I got it. I understood it so clearly.
I have taught OM life skills – she cooks, cleans, looks after herself – but I’ve also taught her to be kind, to be understanding, forgiving. Granted, I’ve not always been the best example of those things but I’ve taught her nonetheless. I’ve taught her to have faith, to trust God will work it out.
I didn’t have to teach OM to be independent as she’s had that down since she was two-years-old, struggling to put her own sock on but refusing my help because she could “Do it myself!” (her first full sentence by the way!).
I’m not at all worried about her. OM is capable, honourable, trustworthy and a wonderful friend to have. She will enjoy this adventure and I will enjoy the visits when she makes them and the stories she will share.
The house is quieter. LM and LD are quieter. We are learning to adjust and we will settle into a new routine just as OM will settle into hers.
The bond between us hasn’t changed and that is the important thing to hold on to.
In the car on the way home, LD said to me, “It’s really sad that OM has gone but by the time I go to university, you won’t be that sad because you’ll have done it before with OM and LM.” I turned to my precious nine-year-old Little Dude and said, “I promise you, it will be just as hard for me with you as it was today.” He then thanked me which I thought was funny – imagine thanking someone for their future sadness!
So, if you have dropped off your child – firstborn, lastborn, everything in between – at university this month, I extend my hand to you in a high-five – we did it!
Our position has changed but God-willing, we have given them the ability to soar so that we can now proudly watch from the sidelines, cheering them on.
Speak soon x
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