Updated: July 30, 2019
Originally Published: July 14, 2015
When my eldest child, Lucas, embarked on his journey to college a few years back, the transition was surprisingly smooth. He attended a school on a trimester schedule, which meant his departure came a few weeks later than his peers. By the time we packed his belongings and drove to campus, we were all mentally prepared. I blinked away tears as we pulled away, but the sadness was tempered by the knowledge that he would thrive—and so would we.
However, after his first winter break, the emotional weight hit my husband, Tom, and me a little harder. During the holiday, it felt like we had returned to our normal routine, as if the big change had been a successful trial run. But then he left again, and we exchanged pained glances across the dinner table. “Every time he goes, I realize things can never be the same,” I confessed. “Every time he leaves, I worry I might not see him again,” Tom added.
This is the cycle we face. They depart, they return, and then they leave once more. Each farewell is bittersweet, filled with cherished moments and the reminders of their messy habits.
And then there are summers, adding another layer to this recurring theme. Hello, goodbye.
This summer, Lucas is spending time in the heart of Manhattan. It feels so natural for him to be there; in fact, it seems essential for him to explore this vibrant city. New York has always been like a sun at the center of my universe. Growing up in Connecticut, the city’s allure was impossible to ignore—its energy was both enticing and intimidating, so close yet far removed from our quaint town. I recall the excitement of visiting, whether it was catching a Yankees game or experiencing the elegance of the Metropolitan Opera.
My first real connection with the city came during an overnight visit to a college where I was accepted. Peering out at the urban landscape, I questioned if this was the path I should take. Ultimately, I chose to remain in Connecticut, close yet safe.
Years later, when my college boyfriend—now husband—moved to New York, my relationship with the city deepened. I often drove my old Ford Escort into the city on weekends, praying the car would hold up in what felt like a chaotic landscape. We explored the streets, visited museums, and dined at local diners, a far cry from the fast-casual chains we know today. I remember lying awake at night, listening to the sounds of the city—the sirens, the honks, the rumble of delivery trucks.
Tom, having grown up in Baltimore, also had a familial connection to New York. His father worked in Manhattan, and with Dutch roots tracing back to the area, it was only natural that he would give the city a shot.
Lucas, too, feels that magnetic pull. Now attending school in New York state, he lives in an environment that mirrors our own experiences. He grew up on reruns of Friends—long before streaming services made them easily accessible—so the city holds a special place in his heart. He’ll eventually need to decide if he can envision a future there. Why not start now? Until the moment he left with his packed car, I thought it was a perfectly reasonable choice.
Yet, that night after he departed, I found myself awake with worry, my thoughts racing like the city lights I imagined outside his window. Sending him off with a meal plan felt secure; he would have food. The campus had rules, safety protocols, and plenty of staff. But Hell’s Kitchen? Not so much.
What kind of apartment was he in? I hadn’t even vetted it. Bedbugs? Cockroaches? Did he know how to stock a fridge? Three meals a day out would drain our finances and possibly derail his health. Did that job even exist? We had no role in helping him secure it.
I nudged Tom awake, seeking reassurance. “We’ve been through this before,” he reminded me. “Summer is here. Remember?”
Parenthood is filled with crossroads. Each milestone reached—walking, talking, reading—has felt like a triumph. With three kids and countless transitions under our belt, we should be accustomed to the next one lurking around the corner.
This summer, we’re embracing Manhattan. Or at least Lucas is.
I visited him recently, grinning as the bus driver played “New York, New York” while we entered the Lincoln Tunnel. The city’s energy remains intoxicating—the heat, the vibrancy.
Lucas was excited to see me, joining me for dinner and lunch the next day. He was eager for that nurturing touch, yet already demonstrated a savvy understanding of his new environment. We hopped on the subway, wandered the streets, and I watched him navigate the city he’s beginning to claim as his own. It felt reminiscent of the ’80s, save for the Starbucks cups in our hands and the fact that the young man beside me was my son, not my husband.
This experience holds promise. If he can thrive here, he can thrive anywhere. That sentiment rings true. When you’re young, the drive to succeed influences many decisions. As you grow older, you redefine what success really means. In the space between, there’s New York. Here’s to New York, New York, New York!
In summary, the journey of parenting through the empty nest phase is filled with a cycle of farewells and reunions, each bringing its unique blend of emotions. As children explore new horizons, like Lucas in New York, parents are left to navigate their feelings and worries, all while celebrating the growth and independence of their offspring.