Joyfully Sad

It’s the little things that catch me by surprise—the lone toothbrush on the counter where there used to be two, the neatly made bed that wasn’t slept in the night before, or the empty hamper that used to be overflowing no matter how often I did the laundry. From my description, it almost sounds as if we’ve had a death in the family. And although we are grieving the absence of our first born, he’s not only alive and well, but thriving as a freshman in college. I wasn’t prepared for the conflicting feelings that would accompany his departure: the deep ache of knowing that our family will never be quite the same contrasted by the profound joy of watching our son launch into adulthood.

I braced myself for his departure during his senior year. Tears flowed at different milestones: making his last school lunch, waving as he and his brother drove off together on the final day of school, watching him cross the stage at graduation. The intensity of emotions increased at the end of the summer when we flew 1500 miles from home to get him settled at college.  Toggling between the joy of watching him embrace his new surroundings and the sadness of leaving him felt like a wild ride on a wobbly see-saw.

Since returning, we’re slowly adjusting to setting three places at the table instead of four. I miss swapping sections of the newspaper with him at breakfast and the camaraderie of working side by side at computers in our office. It doesn’t take much for a lump to form in my throat these days. I could easily wallow in sadness thinking about the magnitude of this change in our family. Lamenting about how things will never be the same can feel like swimming in an overcoat—I could easily drown in sorrow. Letting the tears flow is healthy and good, but lingering too long in sadness is not. It will only wear a groove in my brain that leads me down the same negative path over and over again.

With my son’s departure, I’ve been reflecting on my own college years. My parents laid a solid foundation for me in the first eighteen years of my life, but I had to launch from home to continue building on that foundation. They had to take a lesser role for me to mature fully. I wouldn’t want to deny my son that same experience. And really, isn’t that the whole point of parenting?

Our children arrive in our lives as tiny, needy little people. They start out relying on us for everything. But with each stage of development, they take one step closer to independence. We cheer for them when they first crawl and later walk. We’re relieved when they begin to eat, dress and bathe on their own. They start school and we coach them toward taking responsibility and doing homework without being reminded. At each stage of parenting, we’re teaching them a little more about how to navigate the world without us.

A friend recently coined the term “joyfully sad” to describe the paradox of this season. It perfectly describes the tangle of emotions that arise when grown children are finally ready to launch. They will always be our kids, but that hands-on parenting of their first eighteen years is no longer needed. And this is good and right.

Part of what makes childhood something to savor is that it doesn’t last. There is beauty in things that are fleeting—whether it is a delicate flower, a vibrant sunrise, or a newborn baby. There’s no time to take them for granted because they fade and change so quickly. Instead we enjoy them while we can.

My husband and I soaked in every moment with our son during our last few days with him at his new school. Before the dreaded time came to meet him on campus to say goodbye, we clasped hands to pray in our hotel room. Amidst the tears of joy and sadness, we thanked God for entrusting him to us and giving us the privilege of raising him for eighteen years.  And then we gave him back to the God who knew him, loved him, and chose him especially for us before time began. Our son was entrusted to us for a season and we relished every moment of his childhood. He will always be our precious boy. We know we have many milestones yet to share with him. And as the next leg of his journey begins, we are learning to adapt to our changing role.  Although we no longer see him daily, we rest in the knowledge that God remains at his side for this season and all the others that lie ahead.