Freshmen Move-In Day

The day has arrived, and after a 3 hour car ride we’re here.  It’s Freshmen Move-In Day, and the campus is jumping.  The weather is beautiful, multi-colored balloons are swaying in front of each of the dorms, volunteers are running around and greeting those of us who are arriving, and school staff is walking the campus to answer questions. 

Some of the upperclassmen have moved in early, and you can pick them out just by the ease and confidence in which they navigate the campus.  The fact that they don’t have parents huffing, puffing, and trailing behind them while carrying everything they bought for their newly, minted freshman’s dorm is also a dead giveaway. 

We are standing by our car debating the easiest way to move her things, when my daughter gives us a glimpse of the woman she is becoming, and takes control of the situation.

“Dad, you and grandma wait here while mom and I go to the security building to check in, and get my room keys.  When we’re finished we’ll come back here, and start unloading the car.”  Just like that I’m following behind my daughter, and in the blink of an eye we are unloading the car.

When we open the door to her new room, my daughter’s exclamation of “SWEEEEET!” sums up how we are all feeling.  She has hit the dorm room jackpot – private, air conditioned room looking over the campus, and a semi private bathroom.  We quickly dive into unpacking, and decorating, and I silently thank my Sorority Mom sisters who gently, but firmly, told me that the matching blanket, pillowcase, rug, and window shade set with my smiling face on them, holding various signs that read “I LOVE YOU!”, “CALL ME!”, “I MISS YOU!, “DON’T DRINK THAT!”, and “ASK HIM WHAT HIS MOTHER WOULD SAY!” were most definitely not considered cool dorm décor. 

The softball coach and team captains stop by to introduce themselves to us.  They welcome their new freshman catcher with a team picture on her door, and start to fill her in on their upcoming schedule.  I’m comforted as I watch my daughter laugh, and talk effortlessly with her new teammates.  I momentarily feel a sad pang in the pit of my stomach, but push it away.  This is a happy, proud moment, and she is anxious to give her grandmother the campus tour, and show off her new neighborhood.

As we begin walking around, I become immediately aware that the group of freshmen who settled in earlier in the day are now beginning to say their goodbyes.  I’m caught off guard as I pass a husband and wife who have obviously had their moment; she is biting her lip, quietly crying, and he has his arm around her, rubbing her back.  My throat tightens, and I want to reach out to hug her, but all I can do is smile sympathetically.  This encounter repeats itself several times throughout the afternoon, but I push these images away because I’m still soaking in my last moments with my one and only. 

The pride on my mother’s face as my daughter escorts her around the grounds is priceless.  Her first born grandchild is the first to go away to college.  Growing up in Brooklyn, going “away” to college meant driving over the Verrazano to go to St. John’s University.  At the end of the day, you came back.  I watch the two women I love most in this world, and realize how beautiful this moment is, seeing this through their eyes; the obvious pride my mother is feeling as she witnesses another generation “do better” than those who came before her, and the excitement I see in my daughter as she is beginning to realize the world is about to open up to her.

Our afternoon passes quickly, and we walk up the hill to where our car is parked.  It is time to go.  Just as we reach the front of her dorm, two smiling classmates approach.

“We were just looking for you!” they say to my daughter.  “Want to walk with us to the freshman meeting?  We weren’t sure if you knew where to go, so we thought we’d bring you down.” 

Before I have a second to take in what is happening, her dad has decided it is the perfect time for us to depart, and I watch as he hugs his “Hunny Girl” goodbye.  When he lets go of her, she walks past me, hugs her grandma tight, tells her she loves her, and I watch both father and grandmother walk toward the car.  My daughter turns to me, and I realize I am not going to be able to keep the promise I made to myself not to cry.  This is not how I imagined it.  I feel rushed, and I have not time to tell her the things I want to before I leave.  I’m not ready to say goodbye.  But, sometimes fate has a way of giving you exactly what you need when you need it most.

We embrace one another, and hug tighter and longer than we ever have.  I don’t want to let go.  I breathe her in, just as I did the day the nurse put her in my arms.  She lets out a small gasp, and we both start to cry softly. 

Somehow I find the presence of mind to whisper, “Just enjoy everything ahead of you, baby.  These are happy tears, because I’m so happy for you, and so proud of you.  You deserve this.  I love you so much.”  I pull back slightly to look at her, smile reassuringly, and I let her go…just like that.  As I turn to walk to the car, my mother is standing a few feet ahead of me, and only she can see how hard the tears are starting to fall.

 “Hey, Ma!” she calls out to me.  I turn around with my tear drenched face, and there she is, standing in front of me.  This beautiful woman I have loved unconditionally from the second I knew she existed.  I think of how many times I told her, usually when she wasn’t getting her way, and swearing it was because I didn’t understand or really love her, “It’s not my job to love you.  Loving you is a given.  I loved you before I laid eyes on you, and I will love you every single day for the rest of our lives.  My job is to teach you, prepare you to become a responsible adult, and give you the tools you’ll need to be able to go out into the world with confidence”.  I take a mental picture of her smiling brightly, so ready for what awaits her, and my heart is full because I think I have succeeded.

 “I love you infinity times, which means my love goes on and on for you” she says, just as she did every single night I tucked her into bed when she was a little girl.

“Forever, and ever…” I respond, just as I have a million times before.

And, there it was.  No planning, no rehearsal.  Just two simple sentences that sum up everything we are feeling, everything we’ve ever been, and will continue to be to one another.   My precious daughter gives me the final one on one moment I need before I can truly let her go.  I didn’t ask for it, but she knew.  She has reassured me that she is ready to accept the keys to the rest of her life.  I tell her one more time I love her, smile with pride, and turn to join her dad, and grandmother in the car for our journey home.  I cry most of the trip, but I am so privileged to have been her guide on the journey that led to this moment, proud of the young woman she has become, and excited to see what experiences, lessons, and adventures unfold over the next four years.

“Forever, and ever, baby girl.”