How do you let go?

For eighteen years we've had this amazing kid living in our house. He was an adorable, lovable, intelligent, happy little boy who grew into a bright, articulate, wonderful young man. We were privileged, honored, and blessed as we watched him grow, learn, explore, and develop into the fine young man he is today. For eighteen years we saw him nearly every day. He never spent more than a few days away from us in all those years. He became our friend as well as our son. We enjoyed his company - most of the time (he did have his surly teenage moments). We looked forward to hearing about his day as we sat in the living room each evening. As much as I grumbled, I enjoyed helping him with his homework when he asked me to do so (it would have been a lot more enjoyable had it not always been the night before it was due!) All in all, we enjoyed our son, took comfort in hearing the clackity-clack of the keyboard as he sat in front of his computer for hours playing online games, knowing he was safe and sound in his room. We were connected.

Overnight it all changed. He went off to college on Septembr 4th. In one day, our lives were completely different. We drove to Spokane with him in his car behind us. We drove home alone, tears falling freely. He doesn't live here anymore. He won't be coming in to tell me about what happened at school or work when I get home. He isn't in his room in front of the computer or TV. He is off doing what college kids do - starting his life as an adult, without Mom and Dad breathing down his neck. He's free. How does a parent cope with that? How do you let go?

It didn't happen gradually. We didn't get to wean ourselves off of Jonathan. We didn't have a chance to get used to only hearing from him once a day via phone, then graduate to every other day via phone with weekend visits, then every few days via phone with semi-monthly visits, and so on. No, this was an amputation. One day he's there. The next, he's gone. It's too quick, too brutal. We're not ready. We need to hear from him, hear how classes are going, hear how dorm life is going, hear about the friends he's making. We need to stay connected. How do you let go?

We have a family cell phone plan, which means we can all call each other as often as we like at no charge. So, we deal with the loss by calling him, trying to stay connected. We explain that this need is just temporary, we'll get over it, just bear with us. He balks. The first day I call him too often, message him too often. He's annoyed with us. He needs his freedom. His friends wonder what our problem is. We remind him it's just temporary. He tries to understand, but doesn't really. How can he? We need a compromise. We ask him to just call us each evening, just to touch base, like "the old days". He agrees, begrudgingly. He calls that night and tells us about the past couple of days and his first day of class. We go to bed happy. The next day, it's all I can do not to call him and see what he's up to. I finally succumb to my need and call him for a short conversation. He promises to call that night so we can talk longer. He doesn't call. His older sister tells us he is embarrassed by our calls. His friends are starting to make fun of him. That's the last thing we want. How do you let go?

Today I sent him an email telling him we won't call him anymore. We will wait for his call when it's convenient for him. It's funny how you can sometimes stand back and watch yourself and understand the motivation behind your actions. Part of me wanted to get angry, to say "fine, screw you, I don't need you either!" I realized that was a natural, defensive behavior, but not the appropriate response. Anger is just a coverup for sorrow and fear. Obviously, I fear becoming irrelevant to my son, especially when he is so important to me. No wonder it hurts to let him go. I don't want to become unimportant to him. And the reality is, I never will be, but that doesn't make it easier to believe - or less painful to let him go. How do you let go?

He will never understand the need to just hear his voice, the desire to share in the wonderful new experiences he's having by listening to him tell us about his day, the need to wean ourselves from him instead of being amputated from his life so brutally. He just wants his freedom. So, we will push ourselves to allow him that, push past the pain, give him his space, wait for his call and invitation to visit, as difficult as that is going to be. We will let go.... just please, someone, tell us how you do that.