Raising Red Letter Kids

This post was written last year, but I am posting it now to encourage all those parents who are going through send off season right now. Have courage. You will survive. 

There are not enough crying emojis to express how I feel right now. I know there are real and much worse problems in the world to cry about like famine, war, terrorism and the current US political scene, but I just can’t seem to pull myself up by my bootstraps and snap out of it.  I should be ecstatic, or at least grateful. I have just finished a wonderful 2 week vacation with my beautiful family of four.  But instead of relishing in the awesome adventures we just completed, I am going through tissues like I just bought stock in Kleenex.

  Empathy (read wailing in solidarity) is one of my spiritual gifts, so me tearing up does not make headlines in my house.  But in the weeks leading up to this vacation, I began to get weepy at the most inappropriate moments. I tried to keep busy preparing for the trip and packing to avoid any ugly crying, but the night before we left, it hit me that this was our last night together as a family at the house before the trip.  Like that creepy mom from the children’s book, “I’ll Love You Forever”, I lovingly tucked my grown kids into bed with a kiss even though they were already fast asleep, and I silently prayed as I cried myself to sleep.

The next morning before dawn, I, my husband, my 22 year old daughter and my 18 year old son crammed all of our stuff into the truck as we prepared to go on a road trip from our southern California home up to British Columbia, Canada. Having a teenager and a young adult in a small space for hours upon end may sound like torture to some parents, but to me it’s heaven.  Talk about a captive audience! Our family has always enjoyed road trips, not only for the exciting places and adventures they take us to, but for the journey itself which gives us the gift of uninterrupted time to debrief, discuss, and dream together.

This road trip was different though.  No one seemed quite as eager to get going.  There was a hesitancy about leaving our home, our dog, our life as we knew it. We took several more pictures and packed a few more snacks, but eventually the reality of the miles ahead urged us to finally get on the road.  As we started off, I said a prayer like I always do on these trips, for safety, health, and protection on the trip. I thought about going further to pray for more long term, life changing guidance, but I felt my voice crack and I decided to keep it short and simple.

My latino husband always likes to start out our trips with country music. His playlist includes appropriate vacation songs such as “Where the Blacktop Ends” by Randy Travis.  But pretty soon we found ourselves listening to such tear jerkers as “You’re Gonna Miss This” by Trace Adkins and “Anything Like Me” by Brad Paisley.  The lyrics to these songs like many country songs are clever and touching to be sure, and it never takes much to bring a tear to my eye. But, on this morning, on this trip, these songs brought all of us, including the boys, to tears, and me to more of, well, an ugly cry.

We finally decided to stop this masochistic exercise, turn off the music for awhile and change the subject and the atmosphere.  Eventually we all perked up and as the miles passed we got lost in the beauty of the new scenery and old friends that we saw along the way.  It was one of the best family vacations we have had. The weather was perfect, everyone got to see and do what they wanted to. We all checked off bucket list experiences. It truly felt like heaven to be so carefree and surrounded not only by God’s creation, but also by my kids and hubby.

The only problem was that our final stop on the road trip was not another scenic mountain to hike or city to bike around, but instead it was  a small Christian college in the wheat fields of Washington state.  And when we left there to head home, we would have an empty seat in the truck and an empty spot in our hearts.  There, on a cold rainy night we unloaded most of that stuff we had crammed into the truck and we desperately tried to organize and arrange it into one side of a small, jail cell like room that my baby was supposed to call home for the next four years.  I breathed a sigh of relief when my son decided not to spend the night there, but instead to return with us to the hotel for one last night together.  I had lamented so many “lasts” with him in the past year, but this one seemed to catch in my throat like it was trying to strangle me.

I didn’t want the next day to come, but it did and we dutifully took him back to the campus and attended to all of the preparatory parental tasks at hand. We listened as the president, pastor and other leaders of the college welcomed us and tried to reassure us that we were leaving our baby in good hands.  They told us the cost of Christian education was worth it and our children would thrive in the middle of this wheat field. They even put on a luncheon for parents and students where we could enjoy the college cuisine that would be sustaining our children for the next four years.  It was a cowboy themed dinner, meant to be cheery and fun, but all I could think of was “the last supper”.

Then there was the financial office to visit, the local credit union to set up an account, and of course two or three or five more trips Walmart, where we ran around racing other frenzied college parents trying to grab the last shoe sized Tupperware or sticky hooks on their shelves.  I managed to talk my son into letting me buy him a new set of towels to match his new bedspread which made me  feel better temporarily.  Eventually we ran out of parental tasks to do and the reality of the next event being a “students only” activity hit home. We casually dropped him off at the event and nonchalantly told him to have fun and that we would be back with a few more things for his room later after his activity.

So far I was impressing myself with my bravery and ability to put on a good front of the carefree and happy-go-lucky mom excited about her youngest child going off to college and happy about life in general. I kept up this front pretty well, even when we went back one more time to drop off the last of his stuff and to say goodbye, for reals.

I hid my emotions by getting out my Nozbe to-do list and going over all the items we had successfully completed.  The last item on my list was to talk to my son about the president’s speech on the traits for success in college and to reassure him (and myself) that he was well prepared and possessed all, well, most of those traits. I told him that this college would be a better place in four years, because he had been here and that I was so proud of him and loved him so much.  I gave him one last hug and forced myself to let go, then tried not to run to the truck.  I managed to hold it together and even plaster a fake smile on my face until I got in the truck. Then my hubby turned on the ignition and we left our baby waving to us from the boys’ dorm porch. Suddenly he looked like a little boy again, not eager for us to leave, but scared and unsure.

As we drove away, I felt a physical aching of my heart, a huge lump in my throat, and my tears started flowing. My husband tried to be strong and hold back his own tears.  My daughter who had been comic relief throughout the weekend, was now faced with the possibility of not seeing her best friend for a year and she broke down as well.  My heart ached for them as well as myself.

The 19 hour drive home was long and quiet without our fourth member of the family. Not wanting to slip into depression prematurely, I had purposely (and foolishly) saved any articles I came across on the topic for this very moment, so now, on the long road trip home without my baby, I drowned myself in sorrow as I opened links and read blogposts about leaving your child at college. Our friends who were caravanning with us had also left their youngest son at the same school and I texted tearfully with the mom.  We shared sad articles. We offered notes of despair and understanding. And every time we stopped for food or gas, we exchanged hugs and kleenex to dry our puffy, red eyes and wipe the mascara off our faces. Other friends who had recently or previously gone through the same process called or texted and through social media I was singlehandedly able to incite crying and weeping in moms around the world whether or not they had even gotten to this stage in life.  

Misery loves company, and I had been in denial, holding these emotions in for most of the summer, so I felt some relief in just being able to wallow in my despair for awhile.  But now as I arrive home to my house and walk by my son’s empty room and neatly made bed, it has really hit me that for now it is just the three of us, soon to be two, as my 22 year old is heading off in a month to do a year of missions before grad school.  How can this be? We have always been the “Belliard4”, and like my kids used to say when my husband went away on business, “it feels like a piece of the pie is missing”.  I guess pie is made to be shared, to bless others, but right now, I’m not feeling the whole, “this is what we raise them for” speech. Of course, this is what we raise them for.  Of course I am happy that my son is healthy and able to go off to college.  I realize this a privilege that many people never get.  But it still hurts my heart physically. I’ve been through this before with my daughter 4 years ago after dropping her off at college and that was only a 30 minute drive home. So I know I will laugh again, there will be happy moments,  and this ache in my heart will dull with time. But I also know things will never be the same again. Knowing that a story ends happily, does not prevent tears during the middle.  I wonder if this is in a tiny way how God felt, when He sent His Son off to earth?