Thursday 18 October 2007

Moving On

We were not at home when our student son arrived, on Friday afternoon for his first weekend visit, after starting university. My husband was working in Birmingham, on Friday and Saturday of last week, so we were staying at my parents' house, in the Midlands.

By the time we arrived home, late Saturday afternoon, student son had already done most of his washing. I wasn't sorry about that, particularly when I found out that it had been his friend Lucy's idea to come home that weekend, so that their respective mothers could do their washing! Student son had first met Lucy when they were attending for interview at another university. They had discovered that they lived quite close to each other, and, by sheer coincidence, had met up again in their tutor group, on their current course.

I dutifully began to help my son with the rest of his washing, drying and ironing, shortly after arriving home and things were back to normal for 24 hours or so. Student son had caught up with his friends on Friday evening, so he spent the remainder of Saturday watching the cricket, football and rugby on the television. I got up early on Sunday morning, so that we could enjoy a roast beef dinner together, before he embarked upon his return journey to university.

All too soon, we were heading for the railway station, in the car, and I began to think back to a couple of weeks ago, when my son had suddenly become anxious, as the time to begin his university course had loomed closer. At one point, he had insisted that he would not go to university unless he passed his driving test, because he wanted to be able to travel home at weekends in his car. I had worried that maybe he wasn't ready to leave home, perhaps he should have worked for a year, or perhaps I had been over-protective, in some way, which had resulted in his sudden loss of confidence. I had become concerned, because he seemed to be looking back, instead of forward, and I had worried that he would be unable to settle.

As it happened, student son had passed driving his test, but had been persuaded to leave his car at home, because of parking difficulties on campus, and, as far as I could tell, he now seemed to be coping very well with life away from home. He appeared to be getting on famously with the other students sharing his kitchen, and was keeping company with Lucy and a second girl in his tutor group.

I came back to the present as we pulled up on the station car park, about 10 minutes before the train was due to leave. We walked over to the front of the station with student son, as he rang Lucy, to check that she was on her way. When she confirmed that she would be arriving shortly, my husband turned to me and asked whether we should wait and meet her.

I asked my son what he wanted us to do, but he shuffled from one foot to the other, and replied that he really didn't mind, one way or the other. I searched his face for some indication of his true feelings on the matter, and I concluded that he wanted to wait for Lucy alone. We gave him a quick hug and I kissed his neck, as he had grown too tall for me to reach his cheek. I looked into his face, as we backed away, preparing to leave. He said goodbye, then, as he turned to look towards the car park entrance, I saw his expression change and I realised, without even looking, that Lucy had arrived. In that instant, as I watched him, watching Lucy, I understood that we were no longer centre stage in his life. We were about to play a smaller part. He was looking forward. He was moving on.

We turned and quickly walked to our car. I glanced over towards the car park entrance, glimpsing a pretty dark-haired girl emerging from a car, and smiling in my son's direction. I hoped that there would be other opportunities to meet Lucy, as soon as my son was ready. We drove out of the car park and merged with the oncoming traffic, without looking back.

12 comments:

Debra in France said...

Hi Mean Mom, you don't sound very mean to me. You sound like a brilliant mum, who is being very realistic about her kids gradually moving away. We haven't got any kids and I didn't ever think about how it must have been for my mum when, at 17 I decided to move from Bucks to London for a more exciting life! She never really talked to me about it, probably because I was a moody teenager and have always been independant and adventurous. You post gave me a bit of an insight into how she may have felt. :-)

A Mother's Place is in the Wrong said...

Hi, and thank you for your comments on my blog - have just read yours and it took me back to when Son went away to Uni. He's now 28, living in London and fine! But, oh I do remember that moment when I realised he was moving on!
Best regards, Margot

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Very moving and a fair old tug of the heart strings going on there. I wonder who's finding it the hardest to move on?

Mean Mom said...

Hi debra. The blog title was my husband's idea. He has a twisted sense of humour! He had to find another nickname for me, just recently, because I finally put in a complaint after many years of being referred to as 'the wicked witch'.

It must have been very hard for your mum to let you go at 17. As an only child, I now understand how my parents must have felt, when I married and moved away from the Midlands. There were visits, of course, but they did miss out a bit on the grandchildren etc

Mean Mom said...

Hi mother's place/Margot. Thanks for your comment. It is tough, isn't it, when they go away so suddenly. My other 2 older lads still live at home and did not go to uni (well, my middle lad dropped out after a few weeks), so I have gradually become used to seeing less and less of them. They only pass through here occastionally to make use of the facilities, so I don't think I will feel it so acutely, when they finally leave (if they can ever afford to!).

Mean Mom said...

Hi mob. Thanks for calling by. I am glad to say that I am finding it hardest. He seems to think that he is in heaven. Constant company, cheap beer, and no-one nagging him to do his chores! He'd better remember to do some studying!

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

I remember my student days so well. The sheer delight at suddenly being treated as an adult. The freedom in being away from parental control and all that sitting around chewing the fat until dawn about everything and nothing and you thought you were changing the world. A right of passage that I'm sure must have had my mum feeling the same way as you do now. The deeper the love and affection, then the deeper the sense of loss but additionally that is coupled with pride that your children are making their way in the world as young adults.

Mean Mom said...

So true, mob. That's the situation in a nutshell. Thanks so much for your comment.

P.R said...

I'd leave home, but i'm pretty sure I'd have to prepare my own food. And wash things. Whilst perfectly capable of such things... I'm not entirely sure I want to be. I'm going for the extended childhood thing. Which is basically an excuse to do as little as possible on my days off.

Mean Mom said...

p.r Thanks for being kind enough to visit my blog. Yours is excellent, and deserves more publicity. I have read each blog, and laughed aloud at every one.

Be kind to your mum. Give her a day off.

Swearing Mother said...

Hiya Mean Mom, how well I remember that feeling, standing on the windy platform at New Street, waving my son off on his way back to Uni.

My stomach still clenches slightly at the memory of it the first time, but he's build a whole new life for himself now. It just took a bit of time to realise that I wasn't at the centre of it any more.

Mean Mom said...

Hi swearing mother. Your mention of New Street and windy platform suddenly took me back to a moment in time, approx 35 years ago! I was on the platform, with a (male) friend's parents. He had been home from uni for the weekend, and was on the train, which was just pulling out. He was an only child (nothing wrong with that, so am I)and his mother was overbearing, bossy, over-protective and fussy. As the train pulled out, I watched with some embarrassment, as she tottered down the platform on her extremely high heels, keeping up with the train for a surprising distance, mopping up her tears with one hand, and waving desperately with the other. I really did feel for her, but I admit that I also had to suppress a smile.