My oldest son was my only child for three years. I think that built a bond that doesn’t exist with any of his four siblings who had to share me from day one with an expanding brood of children.
I can honestly say, I do not have a favorite child, but it was this oldest one who taught me how to be a mother. That included how to let go when the time came.
At the age of 19 after an inauspicious start to college, he moved cross-country to San Francisco, a frequent transition for kids who grow up in Boston.
Since he was the first of my five to depart home, it hit me pretty hard; but it was clear he needed a change and I willingly co-signed his decision.
I did the same thing at the same age
My son informed me of his impending move on a Monday. He left that Thursday. I didn’t discourage him. I’d done the same thing at the same age. Like him, I’d notified my mother that I was leaving home just four days before I actually did. My destination was Phoenix, where I was joining my brother who’d just moved west to accept a job in the desert and had invited me to join him.
I packed my most important worldly possessions in a camp trunk, shipped it out first and then flew to our new home.
My son was riding across the country in a van with three other 19-year-olds. He packed even less than me. I don’t remember crying as I watched them depart. I was already thinking about the mess he’d left behind and how it was up to me to clean it up.
I braced myself for what I was about to find
Our house was small and with so many children, we’d converted almost every inch of living space into a bedroom. My son’s room had been our basement playroom, but when he hit puberty, I wanted him to have privacy away from his younger siblings so sent him downstairs to his own personal lair.
His brother, who still shared a room with two siblings, coveted the space and didn’t take long to box up his belongings in anticipation of a move downstairs. Before he could haul his things down, though, I wanted to clear out whatever might have been left behind.
I was nervous about what I might find and didn’t want any of the other kids to uncover something illicit or illegal.
Fortunately, I didn’t find any contraband although I wondered what might be in the small safe in the closet. When I asked him, my son said it was empty and since he’d lost the key and we couldn’t open it I decided to accept that answer.
There were a few books and some out-of-date electronics, but most of what he left behind were clothes he’d outgrown. I wasn’t surprised when I found a Playboy magazine hidden under a pile of old sweaters. In fact, it made me laugh as I recalled my parents finding an issue when my brother left home.
It’s what he took with him that surprised me the most
The clear-out didn’t take long. If he could be unsentimental about what he’d left behind, so could I. By the end of the day, his brother had taken over the space, made it his own, and settled in.
The intrepid travelers arrived safely on the West Coast five days later. They easily found jobs and a place to live. My son’s first job in the Bay Area was on an assembly line in an electronics factory. It was an enlightening experience for him that empowered his next decision — registering for college and setting forth on the path towards the career he has today.
When he moved into his own apartment, I went out to help him set it up. He gave me a tour of the space and proudly commented on how he wanted to fix it up. As I stepped into his bedroom, I saw something familiar propped up on his mattress. It was his Christmas bear that had sat under our tree each year since toddlerhood. I hadn’t realized he’d taken this childhood treasure with him.
My oldest moving out was the first monumental shift in our family dynamic. When I looked at that stuffed bear, I knew that even though he now lived 3000 miles away from me, my son really wasn’t that far from home.
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