Today is my third day of summer vacation. Sadly, my internal alarm doesn’t turn off as easily as the one on my phone, so I was awake as the kids got ready to leave for work and school.
The older one works full time but lives at home. Each morning, he packs his lunch and brushes his teeth and heads out the door at 7am. He graduated a year ago, and it still sometimes takes me by surprise when I expect him to have ‘the day off of school’ and he leaves for his actual job.
The youngest leaves at a similar time to walk to the bus stop. But last week, he got his driver’s license. So today, he grabbed the keys off the hook before he walked out the door, and my heart skipped a beat.
My baby. Driving. Damn.
I’ve been through this enough times to be able to predict how it goes. At first, there’s a queasy feeling each time they drive away. A pervasive thought. Something bad is going to happen. I convince myself that it’s some sort of premonition and panic. It’s not. It’s just garden variety anxiety. It’s just part of letting go.
We now have five adult children out in the world driving cars. Before each and every road test, I thought “This kid is not ready.” And every kid passed on the first try.
The oldest just recently got engaged. ENGAGED. To be MARRIED. And the youngest is operating a motor vehicle without supervision. It’s exciting and terrifying. It’s beautiful and awful.
I know that the queasy feeling eventually subsides. It’s replaced by a wary acceptance and mild judgement because I still think they’re all terrible drivers. Even the one who’s been driving for a decade. Maybe especially that one.
Eventually, each phase becomes old news. The specific, intense worries are replaced by a low hum of concern simply because they’re out in the world, existing, without you.
My youngest has a newfound freedom. And so do I. All of a sudden, my evenings have freed up. He drives himself to practice or to rehearsal or to the gym. I have wide open hours.
Every time this shift happened before, there was another kid waiting in the wings. And as the older ones moved on, I was reminded to enjoy this time with the youngest. I knew I was going to miss those deep conversations in the car. I knew I was going to drive him to school one day, not knowing it would be the last time. I knew I was going to feel ill the first time he drove away on his own. I knew all of it.
And knowing didn’t even help. Because I’m so freaking sad that this phase is over. I’m trying to be positive. I’m trying to be excited for him and for me. But today, I’m just grieving.
I didn’t expect this sadness. I thought I was used to the feeling of kids leaving the nest. But he’s the youngest. Every other kid drove away, and I held on to the idea that it wasn’t really over. I could do it better with the youngest. I would appreciate it more. I would savor the moments. I tried. I really did. And it ended anyway. What kind of idiot am I to be surprised by that?
In the time it’s taken me to write this, I know he’s made it safely to school. I have a vague awareness that everyone is where they need to be. It’s time for me to catch up. It’s time to get off this couch and shower. I have an appointment for a mani/pedi and a thrift store date with my mom.
If these kids can be out in the world being humans all on their own, then I can, too. I just have to remember how.