We took our son to college last week. I was the quintessential Mom, making up the dorm bed and providing my two cents on how the drawers should be organized. I plugged all the electronic devices in ensuring that each had power and worked properly, and I cried and held on a little too long for my son’s liking on that last hug.

 

We left Friday afternoon after the farewell luncheon for parents so I’ve had two-and-a-half days to get used to the concept that as I lay my head down on the pillow each night I won’t know that he’s safely in bed in the next room. This is hard, damn hard. I cried when we drove past a white Volvo on the way home from the movies Saturday afternoon. For a second my heart leapt as I thought, “There’s Mike, off to work out or hit at the Abbey” and then realized he was five hours away at Davidson. I cried when he called and told me he had already eaten most of the snacks that his sister packed for those late night food emergencies. I cried when we watched the Little League World Series and I noticed how small the players looked to me now. 

 

I wore a Davidson T-shirt to the mall on Sunday to buy new school shoes for my 10-year-old daughter who insists she doesn’t and won’t miss her brother. Strangely though, she appeared in the hallway before departure wearing a Davidson T-shirt, too. My husband is talking out of both sides of his mouth; one minute telling me we have to let him get used to school and the next asking me whether our son has texted me lately. Despite the “Tom and Jerry” moments with his sisters and endless fights with his father and me over picking up his room or carrying his laundry basket upstairs, we all miss him.