Crying in the Supermarket

 In the days and weeks leading up to taking my fifteen-year-old son to boarding school, I found myself becoming overly sentimental at times. I liken those moments to the feeling one gets when hugging a family member or close friend goodbye. One whom you don’t know when you will see again. The embrace is loving and warm but also bittersweet because no matter how hard or how long either of you holds on, you know that it is going to end and you both will go your separate ways. The irony is not lost on me that I was glimpsing the future in each of those moments when I would say goodbye to my son. One day I was in the supermarket. It was exactly one week before the drive to Idyllwild and my son wanted as many home cooked meals before leaving as possible. Family dinners have always been a priority in our home and it warmed my heart that there was a part of him that wanted to fill up on those before leaving the nest. So, I planned out each night’s meal, being sure to include his top favorites. As I made my way through the store with my detailed shopping list in hand, I found myself becoming emotional. I was choosing potatoes. Potatoes were the objects of my sentimental haze in that moment. You see, I have made homemade mashed potatoes a million times and I have learned exactly how many potatoes I need to make mashed potatoes for me and my two kids. The thought washed over me that I will have to adjust and learn how many potatoes I need to make just the right amount for only me and my daughter from now on. There I was in the produce section with tears in my eyes and potatoes in my cart. As I slowly walked through the aisles, I lingered on products that were not on my list but those that evoked some memory or connection to my son. Like Taki’s. He could not get enough of Taki’s in the 7th grade. And salad. That boy has loved salad since the high chair. Or bananas. Oh how he loves to tease me because I find bananas to be too sweet for my taste. Not to worry, I did finally make it out of the store without drawing attention to myself. As the week went by, we spent our days shopping for his dorm needs and packing. In the evenings, I and both of my kiddos shared glorious moments and memories at our dinner table.

    The morning it was time to go, we packed the car with little to no room to spare but the good news was that we got everything in and still had room for the three of us. I had been worried about it a bit because my son wanted to take two guitars, two amps, a peddle board, a microphone and a mic stand. For all you non-musical folks, these things take up a considerable amount of space. I felt peaceful that morning. I think it was because I knew I still had two days with him. The orientation and welcome celebration was a two-day event at the school and we were leaving the day before the festivities so we could all stay together in the village the night before checking in to his dorm. We had an easy, traffic free drive and checked in at a lovely and charming Inn with a cabin just a few yards from a small creek. Idyllwild was absolutely beautiful. The three of us strolled through the sleepy streets of the village and checked out the local vendors. Then we had another lovely dinner together at a cute little Italian restaurant with some of the best focaccia bread any of us had ever encountered. This was a part of the journey that I had most looked forward to for weeks. A quiet dinner al fresco with my two favorite people in the world, in a beautiful setting, away from distractions. We talked for hours over our meal. The next morning, we headed to the school which was only five minutes away from our cabin. I could feel my son’s excitement emanating from him. Excitement to see his dorm, to meet his roommate, to get on with his journey. Upon arriving, we found the room to be fairly spacious, especially for a high school dorm. His roommate was from China so he had checked in the day prior with all the other international students. He was a sweet kid, a bit shy and very easy going. My son was happy to learn that he was a music major so he will, hopefully, not mind the jam sessions my son was determined to have with other musicians. All of the students were lovely, kind and inclusive. With just about 300 students total, it was large enough to be diverse and also small enough to feel like a tight knit community.

    There were several events planned over the course of the two-day goodbye. Some events were for students only, some for parents only and some for both. During the parent reception, the head of school offered a short welcome and overview. She was fun and full of spirit and spunk. I liked her immediately. She impressed upon us that one of her most important goals was to keep all lines of communication open with the parents. She told us that just because we were sending our young ones off to boarding school, she didn’t think we should miss out on the rest of their adolescence. I felt my chest swell and my eyes burn when I heard her say that.

    My son continued to impress me over these two days. When he found out that he had not been placed in honors classes that he had been in his last four years of school, he sought out the chair of the humanities department who agreed to email him the essay prompts he would need to complete to be considered and to change his schedule. And, even though he was a film major, he desperately wanted a music class as well. So, without a word he spoke to the music department chair and asked to be considered for a songwriting class. He went back and forth between the music teacher and his film department chair to discuss his level of skill and scheduling. By the end of the two days, he was accepted into the honors level classes and the songwriting class had been added to his arts classes. Yep, he was ready.

    The final event was a delicious catered dinner and a performance at the Holmes Amphitheater. It was a tradition for a number of the seniors to perform a Welcome Back performance to start the school year off. This was usually just for the students but, that year, they chose to include the parents. Lucky me (and my daughter). The space was incredible. A soft, rolling hill that looks onto a simple yet beautiful stage with incredible acoustics and behind it is a backdrop of trees and mountainside. You feel as though you are sitting in the most beautiful tree house .The first student stunned us with Beethoven on the violin. Then dancers, then one of the creative writing students recited her work and on and on. As I watched each performance, I felt that swell in my chest and that burning in my eyes again. When the show ended, it was time to go. Time for my son to go to his dorm and for me and my daughter to drive down the mountain and go home. I went to his room to pick up my purse and my head started spinning. Wait! Have I done enough? Have I checked off enough boxes in the parenting column to warrant driving away? I’m not ready and if I’m not ready, maybe he isn’t either! And then my son, my used to be sweet boy and my now sweet, kind, smart young man gave me a big hug, looked me in the eye and said, “Thank you. I love you, Mom.” Yep. He was ready. Needless to say, I cried all the way down the mountain and then again sporadically all the way home. I was so very proud of my boy and so incredibly excited for the opportunities that lay before him. My tears were shed within the appropriate level of grief over the loss of his spirit no longer in our home every day. I think back on those many moments when my heart swelled and my eyes burned and recognize that those moments were born out of the reaffirmation that letting him go was the absolute right choice. I wasn’t ready but my boy was ready.

    A few days have come and gone since we returned home without him. I am only just now discovering how quiet our home is now that he is not here. I think I miss the sounds of hearing him play his guitar and write songs in his room the most. Yesterday, I found myself in the supermarket again feeling melancholy, indecisive and a tad bit weepy. There are many items on my lists to come that will continue to be the same as always but there are some that are removed because they were items specifically chosen for my son. I made my way around the produce section and found myself looking at the potatoes. I wasn’t planning on making mashed potatoes again so soon but why not? We are part Irish, ya know. So, I started to calculate the weight in my head about how much less I should get but then I stopped. Wait a second. My son will be home on sporadic weekends and for holidays and summer vacations. And the school is only a few hours away. We can go visit every now and then. Some of those kids are thousands of miles away from their families. Sure, I thought I would have my son with me non-stop for another three years and cry in the supermarket when he goes to college but this is not the end of the world! He is getting educated in one of the highest ranked arts high schools in the country! In my cart go the potatoes. I will make mashed potatoes just as I always have. And if my son is not home to share in the meal, then we’ll have leftovers. My son loves leftovers.