I’ll Miss Her While She’s Away

self insemination kit

“She (We devoted so much of our lives) / Is leaving (Gave up so much for her) / Home” —The Beatles
“She’s gone / I’d better learn how to cope / She’s gone / I’d pay anything to have her back” —Hall & Oates
“Gone like a freight train” —Montgomery Gentry

The girl has left the building. Off to college, she’s headed to her 10th-floor dorm in the busiest part of her sprawling D1 campus. There are likely more students on her floor than in her entire graduating class.

She’s thrilled, ready to make her mark on the world, and honestly, no one who knows her is shocked by this turn of events. Her last summer at home felt like she was just passing through like a ghost. Juggling three jobs, there were days I’d catch only a fleeting whiff of her shampoo as she zipped past. In hindsight, I think the universe was preparing me for this moment, urging me to adjust to her absence.

Her restlessness during her transition from adolescence was palpable, building up like a NASCAR race. Once the last embers of graduation party bonfires faded, she was done with the small-town life. College awaited, and I can’t say I blame her—she is, after all, her mother’s daughter.

After we dropped her off, I waited a couple of days before stepping into her room. Honestly, I could have gone in armed with a steam cleaner or a backhoe. (Every mother of a teenage girl knows the struggle.) It was a mess. I had held my tongue for weeks leading up to her departure because I wanted a smooth send-off. The stress of the big day was enough; I allowed her room to devolve into what felt like a post-apocalyptic scene.

As her final night at home ticked away, I could sense her anxiety rising, highlighted by frantic outbursts of “Where’s my insurance card?!” followed shortly by a sheepish, “Oh, I found it.” This cycle repeated more than a few times.

She left in a whirlwind of excitement and hope for her new adventure, embodying everything books describe: bittersweet, melancholic, and a touch of eagerness from both of us.

Having sent my eldest son into the Air Force Reserves a couple of years back, this isn’t my first time sending a child off. However, the experience was different with him; where she is restless, he was reckless. I could finally sleep soundly once he settled into boot camp. (A knowing nod from every mother of a wild teenage boy, right?) So, I understand what it means to miss your kids.

Surprisingly, I find myself genuinely excited for her, which softens the void I expected to feel. She checks in frequently—more often than when she was home—and shares detailed accounts of her new life that she seems to relish. I know this will come back to haunt me during her winter and summer breaks. I can already envision the “Rules? What’s that?” debates brewing. Good times are ahead…

In the meantime, I will patiently await her next call or text, relishing the quiet mornings without the frantic search for my comb, cream, mascara, or those beige sandals with cork heels. (Where else would they be but in her dorm room?) For now, there are no wet towels on her floor.

However, I miss having someone to watch Rock of Ages with when it pops up on cable. My heart twinges a bit when I realize I no longer need to order a vegetarian dish when we get takeout. And I definitely don’t smell that expensive shampoo as often (Old Spice or Axe are my new normal, but herbal essences are a rarity).

Yet, I remind myself that she’s only away for a while. And I miss her—more than I anticipated.

As I wrapped up this piece, I received another text from her: “I miss you guys.” Perhaps all that teenage angst has subsided for now. Maybe a nostalgic ’80s song triggered memories of me. Or perhaps, after seeing my picture text, she’s a bit eager to return to her tidy room for Thanksgiving.

Whatever the reason, I’m saving this text as a keepsake.