There are a thousand articles about preparing your child for college. But no one really prepares a mom for the quiet.
How to organize the dorm room.
What to pack.
What not to forget.
How often to call.
What meal plan is best.
Not the dramatic kind.
Not the “empty nest” cliché people joke about when your child is still in high school.
I mean the actual quiet.
The kind that settles into the house after 18 years of hearing one particular voice every single day.
Dear Son,
I watched you grilling out with your friends and it hit me…my home is about to be really quiet without your voice that I’ve heard every day across the rooms.
You were the one who made me a mom. The one who taught me everything first. We learned life together in so many ways. I was young, unsure, emotional, stubborn, determined, and wildly underqualified for the job of raising you, but we figured it out together.
You grew up alongside me.
I look at you now and see pieces of every stage still living inside the young man setting off for college.
I still see the little boy who asked a million questions at bedtime. The kid who made me laugh when I was crying. The teenager who tested boundaries while somehow still having the softest heart.
And now here you are, standing at the edge of your own life.
I know this season is supposed to be about excitement, and it is! I am so excited for you. More than you know!
I want you to go experience life beyond our town. I want you to meet people who think differently than you. I want you to fail a class quiz, stay up too late, make lifelong friends, eat the heck out of your meal plan, and slowly figure out who you are when no one is watching.
I want you to become your own person.
That’s the goal of being your mom, isn’t it? To slowly work myself out of a job I have loved so much.
But if I’m honest, there’s grief mixed in with the pride I have for you.
For years, every version of your growth required a tiny version of my letting go.
Your first day of preschool.
Riding a bike.
Driving away alone for the first time.
Your first date.
Senior year.
And now this.
College feels less like the biggest goodbye and like the final page of a chapter I have anticipated but not wanted to end.
But hear me clearly: this is not sadness because I think you still need me! I have full confidence that you will figure things out!
It’s sadness because being your mom in the day to day has been one of the greatest joys of my life.
You owe me nothing for that.
Not constant phone calls.
Not weekly visits home.
Not guilt for growing up.
Your job now is to go live!
Fully. Bravely. Kindly.
And when life gets hard, because it will, I hope you remember a few things from home:
You do not have to perform to be loved.
Character matters more than image.
Call me occasionally.
Most people are carrying invisible battles.
Be the kind of man who makes people feel safe.
Apologize when you’re wrong.
Learn how to cook at least three meals.
Wash your sheets!
Trust God even when life feels uncertain.
And please, for the love of everything holy, answer at least one text every 24 hours.
I know college will change you. I hope it does!
I hope you become more confident. More grounded. More compassionate. More aware of who you are and what kind of life you want to build.
But no matter how much changes, there will always be a place where you are simply my boy.
Not because I can’t let go. But because love doesn’t stop evolving just because your child grows up.
So as you leave for college, here’s what I really want you to know:
I am proud of you. Not just for where you’re going, but for who you already are.You are one of the best things that ever happened to me!
Love,
Mom
PS: Your sister is for sure moving into your room, but I’ll figure out a new space for you to come home to when you need a break! My door is always open.
