My first child was born when I was only 23 years old. I felt ready at the time and my knowledge of parenting was that babies were sweet and cuddly and just adorable. I even thought that pregnancy was a magical time in life with the baby kicking and everyone just getting excited about the upcoming birth. There would be cute baby clothes at showers thrown by family and friends, and the excitement of finding out if we were expecting a son or a daughter. All of these things held true to a point, but nobody really ever talked about the hard parts of pregnancy. The appearance of swollen feet and water retaining fingers was a surprise that ultimately resulted in my wedding band being cut from my finger. The appearance of bloody noses out of nowhere and the total discomfort as I got bigger were also a shock as I slowly lost the capacity to take any good deep breaths. I actually broke a toe on my right foot hitting a table during the first signs of labor that proved to be rather uncomfortable for the long days in the hospital that were about to follow.

I still remember writing the sweetest birthing plan that would consist of all of my favorite music and a peaceful setting where special breathing and synchronized pushing would result in a beautiful birth. My son was indeed born. I just didn’t expect the emergency C-section and the stitches that followed and the long scary nights where I even wondered if I could take care of him in some of my desperate moments. As other friends of mine started getting married and having children, I tried my best to prepare them for some of the realities as they, too were only living the fairy tale that they had seen in movies. None of their friends or family members wanted to tell them some of the harsh truths. People would ask me what it was like to be pregnant and a mother and I would always ask them if they wanted the fairy tale answer or the truth. I never quite understood why women kept these harder moments from each other as we could all be such a resource for the difficult times. Complaining about the difficulties of parenting does not make you a bad mother it makes you a very honest and concerned one.

I felt equally unprepared for the departure of my son for college last week. I have been struggling all year as the moments of his senior year passed by. There were senior sunrises, yearbook dedications, homecoming dances, senior pictures, prom, senior sunrise, awards nights, and finally graduation. All of these things were meant to slowly prepare me for the reality that he was going to move out. That room was going to be empty and clean for the first time in 18 years. There would no longer be an unmade bed that made me growl a little some mornings, or shoes scattered all over the floor. There would no longer be more hidden dirty clothes that would mess up my perfect laundry completion plan. There would just be a room with a few old baseball bats left over and a drawer full of some special mementos that he knew he wouldn’t have room for at his new apartment. I became the expert at choking back tears all year long and have gotten so good at it that a simple sip of water wards off the big streams that are on their way.

I never had a friend or a family member prepare me for this feeling of loss and closure on this part of his life. It hurts and he has only been gone one week. The reward a parent receives for raising an independent adult is a broken heart and a proud soul. There is nothing more pleasing than seeing your son decide to further his education and make the choice to go live as an adult responsible for his own laundry, cooking, social decisions and curfew. As a mom, trying to go to bed at night not knowing where your son is for the time in 18 years results in an emptiness that can hardly be described in words. It is something that every parent must face and I just want you to know that the pain is real and you should feel comfortable telling your friends that your miss your child whether they live 30 minutes away or 10 hours away. It is tough to close the door on years of mentoring another human being that you love deeply, simply so that they will actually leave your home and start their own life. Take time to prepare yourself for it and allow yourself to grieve the change that has occurred. It’s okay to cry and you don’t have to be tough about one bit of it. There is no medal for the mom that looks the happiest when her child leaves for college.

To my own mom, I bet I didn’t call you enough when I should have when I moved out and I know I didn’t think about what you must have been feeling. For that I am sorry all of these years later. And Mom, if you get the chance, tell your grandson to check in with me when he can because every call brings a moment of hope that is needed during these hard weeks and months as I adjust to a home without his laughter and amazing presence.