HayU Blog

“I’m scared,” our daughter said.

“Me too,” I said, knowing our reasons were different.

My wife and I hugged our daughter goodbye and left her standing there alone for the first time in her freshman dorm. Then we drove our rental car back to the airport for the hardest commute we’ve ever endured.

There was much weeping and wailing in that vehicle. I’m not ashamed to admit it’s still very hard.  It even feels like we experienced a new form of death, as if we’ve been left behind to learn how to live again, forever different.

For some, the first day of school each year may ring in the promise of a new beginning, a fresh start and even a welcome return to family routines.

The same day also signals varying degrees of loss:  the end of summer’s delightfully unstructured time, escapist vacations, summer camps and high school jobs that all come to an abrupt end.

If parents feel a nagging sense of a different, sometimes unnamable pain, it could be because we had to say goodbye to our kids.  Again.  Whether you dropped off a student to kindergarten or college, you felt it—a creeping dread that your family is quietly shedding one version of itself to make room for whatever comes next. 

Every time a child goes off to school at any grade level, we are collectively practicing a very long, crucial goodbye that will and must repeat.  If it hurts, that may mean you’re doing your job as a parent or guardian. It’s supposed to sting and sometimes even take your breath away. 

And yes, we recognize none of this growing up business is supposed to be about us parents. We’re meant to focus only on the glorious individuation of our beloved offspring. We dutifully remind ourselves that we shall be strong for our progeny.  We might mistakenly believe our feelings don’t even matter. After all, we did sign up for this grand independence project and pledged to finish what we started. 

The other day while driving my daughter’s car to keep the battery from dying, a perfect tune came on to loosen my grip on her wheel. It was a Beatles song only Paul could sing with that perfect blend of sorrowful joy and joyful sorrow:

I don't know why you say, "Goodbye," I say, "Hello, Hello, Hello…”

I’m trying to be more like McCartney now and reimagine forms of farewell as something else: a chance to welcome in new feelings and even embrace realities I can’t stop anyway. 

So hello to my daughter being in another state.  Hello to my wife and son needing more of me as I lean harder into them. Hello to registering the pain and not pretending it isn’t there.

Goodbye to resisting these truths and hello to everything we cannot control and never will.