The Good Grief of Sending My Son to College
Moments like these are profound. They’re reminders that in the end we can’t control the ocean—we’re not meant to. We are a conduit through which life flows.
As a conduit, my job is to let go—to open my heart. This means letting love in... and letting it go.
All I have poured into this child, this man—all 18 years of everything I have—none of it is mine anymore. It never was. Let it go.
When I do this, surprisingly, my heart doesn't break... it overflows.
Because the life I let go flows right back in. My fear is that by letting go, I'll be left empty. But the emptiness I fear only happens when I hold on. Holding on closes the heart. Opening invites the continuous ocean of love and life to flow through.
When I think about what I really want, it's that. As much as I would like to hold on to my son, I want to know him as he is, in each moment.
I watched my son walk into his dorm as we said goodbye. For 18 years, my heart was a protective home for him—with walls and a roof, so he could safely grow. Now my heart is an open field where he can run, and he can come back, a new man every time. He's always welcome here, and always free to go back out.
When I open my heart like this, I sense that this opening is far more important for me than it is for my son. By letting go, my heart is open, not broken. The ocean of life can flow freely through me, and while I feel waves of sadness, nostalgia, worry, excitement, pride, and the thousands of other feelings and emotions that arise for a parent sending their child to college, I remain whole.
Life never stops. We can't control it. Our job is to open our heart and let it flow through us—no pushing, no holding back.