PowerBars. That’s what did me in. A few protein-packed energy bars sitting neatly on a supermarket shelf actually triggered that thoroughly unglamorous scene at our local market—the one where I abruptly abandoned a cart full of groceries in the middle of the aisle, bolted out into the parking lot, and stood sobbing and sniveling until my eyes were red and swollen and my face was a complete, slippery mess.
I am not going to try to completely explain it away, mostly because I already had to do that once. When my bewildered husband came rushing out of the automated doors after me, he was genuinely convinced that some rude shopper must have pushed or tripped me, pulled a knife or a gun, detonated a bomb, or worse.
“It was the PowerBars,” I managed to choke out between ragged sobs.
Not that I am suggesting this exact cinematic meltdown will happen to you. Just because you might be sending your child off to college for the very first time is no reason to believe you are inherently susceptible to random fits of irrational behavior like I was. And there is certainly no reason to think that a week or so after you’ve dropped him off and everything seems to be going relatively okay, something as routine as a grocery shopping trip—something as utterly mundane as an energy bar, the exact same kind you’ve been buying every single week of every single year to tuck into his backpack or tennis bag without giving it a second thought—could actually hit you squarely over the head with your brand-new reality right there in aisle five.
Life has changed.
It will never be the exact same.
Now, move on to the cash register and try to pay for the groceries you didn’t abandon.
Every autumn brings with it a massive wave of empty bedrooms across the country. It ushers in a season of houses where the landlines or cell phones aren’t buzzing quite as much, where the refrigerator door doesn’t open and close nearly as often, and where the hallway shower doesn’t run with the same dizzying frequency.
After months of intense planning, college tours, campus visits, college applications, agonizing essays, and nerve-wracking interviews, sons and daughters are sent off for the first time to higher education destinations spanning all across the country and, indeed, for some families, all over the world. Even if the chosen college happens to be an easy, manageable drive away from home, it is still fundamentally not the same as having your child sitting behind the desk in his or her bedroom right down the hallway, just out of sight.
This is not an entirely negative development, of course. There are genuinely good things about this particular transitional stage of letting go—some great things, actually. There is more time for yourself, more quiet space, and significantly more personal freedom. But if you happen to be anything like me, it is going to take a considerable amount of getting used to. And I will readily admit that The Great PowerBar Drama happened after our oldest headed off to school in Washington, D.C., while our younger daughter was still safely under our watchful eye in grade school just a few miles away. What on earth, I began to wonder, would I eventually be capable of when she inevitably packed up and took off on her own? Let’s just say that the empty nest was not an easy transition for me to navigate. In fact, it proved to be such a monumental life shift that it compelled me to write an entire book that was recently published, though that is a story for another day.
What ultimately helped me to cope with my oldest leaving home was an idea that I had utilized from time to time over the years as a reliable way to pull my kids through a particularly difficult or exhausting week at school. “The Friday Surprise” wasn’t much of a grand production at first. It might have been a simple pack of gum, a comic book, or a crazy pen. It was something—anything—designed to surprise and delight them at the end of a long week. Before long, it evolved into a cherished marker in their young lives, a tangible incentive they could genuinely look forward to at the end of a week of hard work well done. It was essentially TGIF for kids.
And it was on that long, quiet, contemplative ride home after dropping our son off in Washington, D.C., that the concept of The Friday Surprise came rushing back to me. What a remarkably perfect way for me to keep in touch with my son, to tuck a little taste, scent, and touch of home into the postal mail each week, and to send a steady stream of mothering when I physically couldn’t be there to do it myself.
Just the simple act of gathering and sending greeting cards, handwritten letters, packages of Twizzlers, a random red plastic duck, and—yes, of course—PowerBars, proved to be immensely soothing to me. It was therapeutic, even. Sometimes it was an envelope, sometimes a box, but faithfully, every single Friday, I mailed something off to our son.
Then, one brisk Friday afternoon in February, the dynamic shifted entirely, and I received my very own surprise. I remember the moment as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Our daughter was home sick from school with a bug, and we were sitting quietly reading together in an upstairs bedroom when there was an unexpected, sharp knock at our front door. There on the front steps stood my good friend Sharon, holding a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
“I felt bad that you were both cooped up inside all day, so I brought this for you,” she said with a grin. A very big, unmistakable grin. And then, as I looked past her, I saw what else she had brought with her. Someone was stepping out of a car parked at the curb. It was a son. My son! He had managed to come home for a surprise weekend visit by combining a flight, a bus, and a quick phone call to my friend for a covert ride from the station.
“A Friday Surprise for you, Mom,” he said, flashing a smile. And for one rare, stunning moment, I was completely unable to say anything at all.
So, if you happen to find yourself struggling with the quiet house and missing your kid who has gone off into the world for the very first time, consider giving The Friday Surprise a try. I sincerely hope it will bring you comfort and many happy returns.