teen-shaped hole in my house

Somehow I managed to make myself really and truly not believe that this day would ever really come. In my head, there was a calendar of the summer, and it stopped abruptly when it came to August 25th. As in, it just ended, cut off, no more daily boxes to check off, just a sort of mysterious blank. We were planning madly, with a whirlwind of shopping trips, sorting through stuff, packing up the teenager’s room, seeing if we could somehow attain her goal of getting all of her 17.5 year’s worth of valuable stuff into just one duffel bag and one backpack, to bring with her as she moved to Israel. She is doing a hesder program, so she will study for one year, and then serve in the army for two. Her plan is to stay on, do college, build a life there, so this August 25 thing loomed over us, larger than life, too big to comprehend in its insane finality, so I just opted out of really actually comprehending that it would come, and with it, she would actually, really go, and somehow, mind-bogglingly, not be here and living in my house anymore. 

The last week rolled around, and with it, a series of uncomfortably real goodbyes, and “lasts”, her last Friday night dinner with us a family, her last havdalah living here, and finally, her last Sunday. We planned to spend the day at Lake Lanier, and got a reasonably bearable Atlanta summer day. The water was brown, the sky was gray, but we had fun anyway, swimming and hanging out in the sand. She asked for a family viewing of the Princess Bride when we got home, a movie she literally has seen at least 50 times in her childhood. Bizarrely all of her young siblings sat through it without disruption or massive meltdown. I think they sensed that these days are all about their big sister and what she wants, and that is just how its gonna be. 

After her boyfriend went home that evening, she cried in my arms, and that just sent me over the edge. Suddenly the impossible 25th looked like it was actually going to be happening, and fast. The next few hours, her Abba and I helped her finish packing, taking breaks to hug and cry. I think, looking back, that there were two especially hard things going on. Leaving her boyfriend of a year, someone that she could always turn to and rely on, and striking out alone, is just a really, really tough thing to do at 17 or any age. So there was that. Moving out of her family home, where there were always people who absolutely loved and supported her, and took care of her, and again, striking out on her own, was starting to also feel pretty scary. It took everything I had to comfort her through my own tears (because honestly, seeing my strong, independent girl sob and doubt herself is one of the toughest things I’ve had to see in a while.) I think that until I saw her crying, I could hold onto my illusion that either this wasn't actually going to happen or that if it somehow did, she would be fine and happy and we would be the only sad ones. I’m actually fairly surprised at how little I was really ready for the moment. Its bizarre, but I’m finding over and over again, that until I live through whatever hard thing, I just can’t really properly stand in awe of others that have done it already. Who knew that there are millions (billions?) of parents out there that have sent their kids out of the house, and lived to tell the tale? And are now normal and functional, and dont cry into their cups of coffee all day long?? Its amazing.

Anyway, the sweetest part of the whole 2 hour tearfest, was the fact that after we finished stuffing her face-hugger stuffed animal and homemade deodorant into the last available centimeters of space in her duffel, she asked if i’d mind sleeping with her that night. i said, um, yeah, of course, since I was just glad she asked so that I wouldn't have to be that pathetic mom that asked. We cuddled under her blankets, and despite the fact that she hadn't washed her sheets in weeks (months?), a fact that would have bugged me any other day, I settled right in. We watched 3 episodes of Coupling, a british sitcom that has a friends-like vibe to it, which was funny and distracting enough to let us stop crying for a bit and relax together. Then we cuddled and talked and cried some more, finally dropping off to sleep from around 2 till 6:30. 

Then, crazily enough, there it was, the dreaded 25th. We headed to the airport, after more tearful hugs from Abba, which left me nearly unable to drive. With the help of some perfectly cheesy Atlanta country music, we managed to lighten the mood, joking and talking till we got to the check in line, where i turned to her sister and brother, and said, guys, this is the exciting part, now we can be really happy for the amazing adventures she is about to begin. Which I kind of honestly thought was a safe, happy thing to say, but it started the tears for her, which I have zero resistance to, so there we stood, two crying fools in the check in line. Red-eyed and frizzy, we checked in her (overweight, unsurprisingly) bag and the siblings took turns weighing themselves on the bag scale. We walked towards security together and she said, ok, this is it, and we all hugged one more time. Then we got on the down escalator, and as we slowly descended, watched her walk towards the security line with her gigantic backpack and brave, shaky smile.