It’s not empty yet but it’s getting a whole lot closer. My first born is about to be headed to college and I’m so excited for him and proud to be his mama and sad that one of my skizzlebutzes is heading out into life. (Side note: I have no idea what a skizzlebutz is or how it’s spelled and Google failed me but my mama used to call me that and I’ve always called the kids that so hopefully it’s nothing awful). It didn’t actually seem really real until we had his graduation party. Between that and the growing pile of whatsits and doohickies that he needs to outfit his dorm room, it’s really sinking in now.
He’s excited and I’m excited for him. The opportunity he’s been given, the program he’s in at the school he’s in in the city he’s in, it’s all amazing and I can’t wait to see what he does with it. I know I’m going to miss him and I’ll be a little sad but holy moly, this is amazing.
I’m not worried about him – he spent a big chunk of a year doing a lot of the adult sort of stuff when I was having my first RA flare for all those months. He did the laundry and the dishes and a lot of the housework sort of stuff (not ashamed to say he’s a lot better at cleaning than I am). He’s understands financial responsibility a lot better than I did at his age. He’s never been my wild child and he’s never given me cause to worry about him. I feel a little guilty that I’m not more worried about that sort of stuff.
I’m sure I’ll cry when I go to watch something we would have watched together. I’m sure I’ll cry a bunch because I do that. That doesn’t mean I’d rather he were home. I don’t want to be an anchor, I want to be a lighthouse. I want to be there when it’s stormy and bleak but I don’t ever want to be the thing that holds him back or keeps him down.
That’s not say I don’t worry or won’t worry – I’m really good at worrying about stupid shit that might never happen. I’ll haunt the news sites of his new city and find new ways to worry about him because this is a big scary world and because that’s part of my heart going off on this grand adventure but I’ve got my fingers crossed that his dad and I have done our jobs well enough that he figures out the flying part with nary a glance over his shoulder at us. Fly my little crow, fly.