“She gave us most of our lives” — The Beatles
“She’s gone; I’d pay the devil to replace her” — Hall & Oates
“Gone like a freight train” — Montgomery Gentry
The girl has left the building. She’s off to college, settling into her new dorm room on the bustling 10th floor of her D1 campus. In fact, her floor probably has more residents than her entire graduating class.
She’s thrilled, eager to embark on her journey to change the world, and honestly, no one in her life is taken aback by this. This past summer, she was virtually a ghost. Juggling three jobs, there were days when I barely caught a whiff of her shampoo as she zoomed past me. Reflecting on it now, it feels like the universe was preparing me for her absence, helping me acclimate to life without her.
Her restlessness has been palpable, and it escalated quickly as graduation approached. By the time the last of the bonfire embers cooled, she was itching to leave her small town behind. I totally understand; after all, she is her mother’s daughter.
I waited a couple of days after we dropped her off before mustering the courage to enter her room. To be honest, I could have brought in a steam cleaner or even a backhoe. (Any mother of a teenage daughter can relate!) It was a disaster. I held my tongue throughout the last weeks of summer, hoping for a peaceful send-off. Getting to that departure day was stressful enough, so I let her room descend into chaos.
Even on her final night at home, her anxiety was evident—evidenced by her frantic “Where’s my insurance card?!” followed shortly by a barely audible, “Oh, here it is.” This cycle repeated a few times.
She left in a whirlwind of excitement, ready to embrace a new chapter, and it was everything the books describe: melancholic, bittersweet, and perhaps a tinge of “can’t wait” from both of us. I had previously sent my eldest son off to the Air Force Reserves, so I’m no stranger to this bittersweet experience. However, the feelings were different this time. While he was reckless, she is driven and ambitious. Honestly, I slept better the day he was safely in boot camp—any mom of a reckless teenage boy knows that feeling.
Surprisingly, I find myself genuinely excited for her, which dulls the ache of missing her more than I anticipated. She checks in frequently—much more than when she was living at home—sharing her experiences in detail and relishing the grown-up lifestyle she’s always longed for.
To be clear, I expect the tide will turn when she returns for winter and summer breaks. I can already hear the “Rules? What are those?” arguments brewing. Good times are certainly ahead!
In the meantime, I embrace the peace of not frantically searching for my comb, cream, mascara, or my beige cork-heeled sandals that are undoubtedly in her dorm. For now, there are no wet towels strewn across her floor.
Yet, I miss having someone to watch “Rock of Ages” with whenever it pops up on cable. My heart twinges when I realize I don’t have to specially order a vegetarian dish when we get takeout. And I certainly miss the scent of her expensive shampoo (Old Spice and Axe are okay, but they don’t compare).
But I remind myself that she’s only temporarily gone. As I wrapped up writing this piece, a text from her popped up: “I miss you guys.” Perhaps the melodrama of “get me out of here” is fading, and maybe my presence still resonates with her. Maybe she heard an ’80s song from “Rock of Ages” that reminded her of me. No matter the reason, this text is going straight into the keep-sake box.
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In summary, while she’s off chasing her dreams and I navigate the quieter home, I feel a mix of emotions. I miss her presence, yet I’m filled with pride and excitement for her future.
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