Launching Our Love

All too soon our family will be unloading every spare corner of a vehicle to load up our Zoe’s belongings and plant her in a college dormitory. The prospect of that leave taking is as hard as it is beautiful and expected. After all, the mission of parenting, as I understand it, is to care, protect, launch, and keep caring wherever our little treasures might feel called. On the threshold of this transition now 18 years in the making, I am breathing deep and watching for wisdom.

Watch Yourself

Victor Klimoski is a friend and regular breakfast partner who has stepped into the ambiguities and joys of these days with me. As I described the tensions between celebrating my first-born’s character and uniqueness coming further into view, and also chagrin at the same child of wonder exercising her parting muscles with a dash of onery, he shared stories of fathering two young adults through similar times. He sent me a poem he wrote about those experiences:

Outward Bound

Add the plaid blanket.
Oh, and that red shirt,
the wool one from Aunt Jane.
Don't forget band-aids.
And a flashlight in case of fire.
How many socks? Only 12 pair?

Why this fuss, this bother
about what just takes up space?
I'm old enough to know what I need
when I need it, and I can manage,
quite well, without the help of a list. 

But the list is always more
than its contents, each item
a talisman, a symbol or sign
for all we want to say
in this tender leave-taking.
Our list helps still our fears,
all the worries we have
about the unknown future
these dear ones will travel
without us at their sides,
reading landmarks, warning
against wrong turns, asking
questions to smooth the way.

And extra socks?  Well, in truth,
you can never have too many.

Heaven knows I am a list maker. I thought I was calm and confident about Zoe’s trajectory until I watched her draw within weeks of this point and felt waves of concern that any single missing checkmark might be the one that derails her future in this pivotal moment. I catch myself wanting her to plant the seeds of lifelong friendship, financial freedom, and significant calling in the world. If she falters now, what if . . . ?

Victor’s poem helps me listen to my own words and notice my tangled emotions. What are the socks I am convinced Zoe cannot live without? How am I working out my anxieties in “check list” form, as if anything could possibly ease this combination of loss and hope? The first step in my re-grounding for this transition is to watch myself and notice how I am acting on emotions I may not yet be able to name. This acceptance prepares me to acknowledge my fears and return to what can be done in this actual moment.

Attend to the Task at Hand

There are many things to pack and things to remember, of course, but the real task at hand seems less about stocking up a dorm room or trying to shore up someone else against failure. As Victor wrote, “the list is always more / than its contents, each item / a talisman, a symbol or sign / for all we want to say.” The real task is practicing together how we face the intermingling of loss and new beginnings this moment holds. In bearing witness to the sadness and the beauty together, we help one another watch ourselves. We lovingly acknowledge that this hursts and this is exciting. We hold a space that welcomes the widest swings of natural human responses to such times, and we hold it humbly enough to admit that a lot of things, inside and outside of this moment, are simply beyond our control. We will always care and advocate for our daughter’s well-being, but now we practice entrusting her to the professors, guidance counselors, and friends she is about to meet. The task at hand is to love with this full view as we’re packing socks.

Lean into Blessing

The acts of sorting, packing, and preparing is turning out to provide ritual for me and for my family, allowing us to remember, to acknowledge, and to lean forward with hope. These forms of prayer help us metabolize experiences that surpass our words and explanations. There is also ritual in the journey to campus, the carrying boxes inside, and the parting ways with our daughter. What else do I feel called to do or to communicate through whole-bodied prayer? It may seem silly, but I sense that decluttering the vehicle we will use is up next. Something about addressing months’ worth of grit and grime is important to me beyond practical readiness for transport. It adds comfort, simplicity, and a sign of blessing to a challenging leg of the journey. This same vehicle we used on our best road trips will now assist in the adventure of beginning college. As she climbs in the back with the brother and dog she will miss most, I hope a clean and familiar place offers reassurance that we are with her in this move and many more transitions to come.

For Reflection . . .

Your own children may be far from college in either direction or they may have chosen an entirely different path. You may have experienced threshold moments like with even without children of your own. What is inviting you beyond your own comforts and capacities in this season of your life? How are you feeling called to watch yourself, attend to the task at hand, and lean into blessing?