Yesterday was another life moment that wasn’t real until it was. We knew it was coming, had planned and worked toward it for years, so of course it was real—almost inevitable. But I’m definitely going to put “dropping your kid off at college” in the bucket of “life events you can’t know until they happen.”
Keana had worked hard for four years. Researched and applied to colleges. Wrote phenomenal essays. Got the recommendation letters and applied for grants and scholarships. She was, as usual, a powerhouse of productivity, and it paid off.
She received her acceptance letter to UC Berkeley (Aerospace Engineering) in May, and a lifelong dream was fulfilled. She was headed back to the place she was born, just as she had dreamed of since she was five. All summer long we gathered and prepped for the big event. In typical fashion though, she was packing the day before we were to drive to Berkeley for the big move-in day. The whole family was there, in her room, helping, annoying, and distracting (along with the dog and cats, of course). By 7 p.m., she had a neat little stack of a life, ready to move.
We hit the road at 11 a.m., the whole family, plus that neat stack of life, packed into our giant, dusty Armada. As we rolled along through the already blazing hot brown hills of the Central Valley, we listened to Keana’s going-away playlist, taking turns saying, “This doesn’t feel real!” or “I can’t believe this is it!”
The ride was smooth and we arrived right on time. Berkeley was already buzzing with day two of first-year move-in and the excitement escalated in the car. We wound our way up the hill toward the back of campus and were greeted by helpers and information on how to check in, unload, and get everything up to her room. It was all surprisingly turbulence free, and in less than an hour, a summer of planning, prepping, and packing had unfolded into one dorm room overlooking the bay. We left Keana and her roommate to take care of more check-in business, then met back up with her for a parting picnic with old friends at Codornices Park nearby.
Keana had to be back for more orientation at 7 p.m. so we had a clear deadline. I pulled over across the street from her dorm and we all got out to hug goodbye. So began the setting in of Real. She hugged Mama first, and I was already working to swallow the tears, and forgot all about documenting. I remembered though and started taking pictures of Keana’s last, heartbreaking hugs with her sisters. We were all choking back tears but respectably held it together the best we could. One last family selfie for the record books.
The moment I wrapped my arms around Keana to say goodbye, it started. The thread that had always been wrapped around my heart that bound us together began to tighten. It was subtle at first, even as she bravely crossed the street and strode toward her new life, not looking back. Mama was silently crying as we drove out of town and there was a silence amongst the four of us as our new reality was setting in. And I swear, the farther we drove away from Keana, every mile, that thread tightened around my heart until I had to stop driving. I pulled off the highway into a shopping center and succumbed to the wave of sadness. I sobbed and sobbed and my heart felt squeezed with each wave, as if the force of that last hug with Keana was yanking it back to Berkeley. The whole car was filled with tears and sniffling and somehow they subsided enough for us to go into Starbucks and get coffee, along with many more napkins.
24 hours later I still have this strange feeling. This feeling of deep, deep sadness and an overwhelming joy. It’s confusing to imagine all the wonderful adventures and opportunities Keana has ahead of her and all the light that that brings, and at the same time feel as if my heart is going to implode inside my chest as tears are streaming down my face.