Last week, while driving west through the rolling hills of Ohio on the last day of spring break, I glanced out of the window to see an old Chevy being driven by a young man, no more than 19, I'd say. He was alone in the car, save for a duffel bag and a white laundry basket in the back seat, filled with neatly folded clothes. Looking at the laundry, a vision washed into my mind of the boy's mother, caressing each college jersey, burying her face into the collars and breathing in deep. I felt her longing to catch a whiff of her baby boy, indulging some ancient animal instinct to detect your pup's scent. I saw her tenderly matching the seams, making the creases, stacking the shirts (some of which she'd never seen. Where did he get THIS? she wondered), making tidy piles of worn jeans and favorite t-shirts, matching socks and discreetly tucking away the gray boxer briefs at the bottom of the basket. I could see that she was happy to perform this task, and she felt needed in an old familiar way that she never thought she'd miss. After all, so very many baskets of clothes were washed, folded, stacked, delivered to bedrooms only to sit and be turned back into shapeless piles of dirty laundry over and over and over again. Then, suddenly, as her son packed for college, panic (!) washed over her as she watched him stuff those very clothes into the duffel, to be taken to some foreign drawer in some room in some place where she would not be. To be taken with him, away from her.
I watched him drive. He looked content, at peace. His handsome, smooth jaw was set and his dark brown eyes gazed forward with purpose and concentration. It was probably his dad's old car, I surmised, and he was thrilled to be its new proud owner, entrusted with her care. He looked rested, buoyed by a week of sleep and home-cooked food.
He looked ready.
It was in that moment when I realized that all we are doing as parents, every single lesson and word and struggle and hug, all we are doing is getting our children ready. And our ultimate task, if we are lucky, is to send them on their way. We must allow their wheels to roll away from us, smile and wave and blow a kiss goodbye, all the while our hearts breaking open, glowing with pride and sorrow, and with a silent burning prayer on our lips that eventually, once in a while, they'll take the exit back to you.
Even if it is just to do laundry.
