As I navigate the final year of my youngest daughter’s high school experience, I find myself reflecting on the bittersweet nature of this journey. This is the third part of a year-long series documenting not only her college application process but also my own emotional preparation for an empty nest.
Three years ago, when my daughter Samantha was just starting high school, a friend of mine was readying her youngest for college. “What’s it like?” I would ask repeatedly, driven by a mix of envy, anxiety, and a sense of disbelief. At that time, Samantha was merely a freshman, and I had just survived my older daughter’s tumultuous high school years. The thought of my youngest departing for college felt surreal, as if senior year would never truly arrive.
“It’s hard to fathom,” my friend replied, “and it’s going to feel strange.” With all three of her children heading to college simultaneously, she and her husband were about to experience their first empty home in over two decades.
In our email exchanges, I started including the countdown to Samantha’s departure—“Three years, 18 months”, then “two years, 11 months.” I wasn’t wishing the time away; rather, I was subconsciously reminding myself of its inevitability.
Yesterday, I baked cookies for her. Baking has always been a source of joy for me, a calming activity that I cherish. Samantha enjoys taking cookies to her summer camp counselor job and indulging in them during our nighttime routine, often bringing them to my bedside for a shared treat. As I prepared her favorite red velvet cookies, it struck me: my days of baking for her are numbered. What will it feel like not to whip up her beloved double-chocolate breakfast muffins each week?
I suppose I could still send her treats while she’s at college. Picture boxes filled with cookies and brownies, addressed in bold black marker, racing to the post office to ensure freshness. She could share these with her roommates, recounting how mom has always been her personal baker. Yet, I know it won’t capture the same essence. This final year is underscoring a profound truth: everything is changing, and I’m someone who thrives on familiarity. I prefer established routines, whether it’s the menu at our favorite restaurant or the route I take home.
Samantha has chosen to apply to ten colleges—a balanced selection of targets, reaches, and safeties—and she assures me she would be content attending any of them. That’s the key: happiness.
Next year, I could be sending cookies across the country or just a short drive away. The uncertainty is daunting, but it’s an inherent part of this milestone year—for both her and me.
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In summary, as I face the impending changes of my daughter’s transition to college, I am reminded of the fleeting moments we share. My cookie-baking days may be limited, but the love and memories we create will last a lifetime.