Dropping off Your Son at School

Last night we hosted friends from college who'd just dropped off their middle son at college an hour away. They stopped at our house to spend the night and share a meal before they flew home this evening.

They stayed in my son's now empty bedroom as he's also taking his next steps forward. It felt both strange and beautiful making up the bed - what was recently his bed - for their arrival.

It can be bittersweet to send a child onto their next steps. There's joy and delight, pride in watching them stretch their wings. There's curiosity and wonder as they explore new aspects of themselves - who do I want to be? What's my gift to offer the world?

And there's the ending of a season, and the missing of them. There's the missing of a time of life as it passes. There's the wonder of, How does life move so quickly?

I wrote this poem for our friends as they dropped their son off at college, and as I dropped my son off at his. I hope underneath the poem you can hear the message beneath so much of what we do and say, even if we don't say it out loud: I love you.

Dropping off Your Son at College

For N and J

Their room holds both their absence and their presence as you
walk down the hall. You smell the faint trace of their cologne
among the pile of boxes awaiting their new home. You pack
your best white towels. When they ask if they can take your
favorite blanket, you say of course. You cook them their
favorite meal, simmering the red sauce and pouring it into jars
to leave in their fridge.

As you pack, you wonder about yourself – was I a good parent?
You remember the times you felt proud and the times you lost
your temper. Worst were the times when you hurt the soft flesh
of their hearts. You whisper a prayer for each time you fell short.

Mostly you remember them as newborns, tucked tight against
your chest in the soft fleece blanket you sewed. You remember
them as toddlers taking their first wobbly steps, as little boys
who loved to wade in the river and who never kept on their
socks. You remember the year they were in gymnastics and
the year you drove them downtown to the diving pool, the
endless choir concerts where you handed out programs and
cried because the music was so beautiful. You remember the
long days when you wished for a quiet hour to yourself and
smile at the irony, the empty hours that stretch before you.

You think of everything you wanted to say these past eighteen
years. Many times you couldn't find the words. Now there are too
many words that want to pour out of the pitcher of your mouth.
You don't know how to catch them all so you start with I love you,
I'll miss you, I'm proud of you. Call me when you need me. You hug
them one last time, inhaling the scent of grown man and each
year of little boy, then walk to the car for the long drive home.

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