It’s Fall Break for my college kids. Bryan College has a generous break that, when counted from the the end of their Friday classes to the Sunday evening return before classes resume, totals nine sleeps. I know this not only because I, personally, am basking in this luxurious stretch of togetherness, but because Birdie announced this as she counted down the days until her beloved older siblings returned home.
Mathaus’ freshman year had many random weekends at home, but, as expected, this year has been different. There’s less of a pull to be here, under this roof. Not only does he have his much more socially active sister on campus to keep him engaged, but it’s a place now just as familiar as this one, populated by a small circle of friends he is invested in and whose company he covets. Also, let’s be honest— it’s harder to pull away, even “just for a weekend,” when your workload begins outgrowing your weekday hours, as it does when one digs into deeper classes. Mary Hannah walked in with that load already squarely on her shoulders as well. Plus, as I said… she thrives on gatherings and events. A college campus is her idea of Eden.
They were home a month ago, for a quick weekend where we celebrated all of our September birthdays at one go. This is the first time since they’ve left that we’ve had longer, concentrated time together, and it came at a needed juncture. My foot injury had sent a palpable ripple of anxiety through the whole family. The continual storm that has been 2019 had seemed to have released its grip over the waning weeks of summer, and this new round of calamity awoke the teeth-on-edge feeling we’ve carried with us since the waves of illness, loss, and injury began battering our family last December. This much-anticipated long week together felt like the opportunity to reset… again.
Of course, if you have kids in college, you know that these visits are not seamless. You know that there’s a bit of jockeying between siblings as they welcome one another back into the fold. You know that there are new habits gained outside of your walls, and lifelong habits that have somehow died rapid deaths somewhere between the minute where you hauled a mini fridge up four flights of stairs and the one where your kids walked in wearing new club t-shirts and carrying their weight in dirty laundry. You know that there are comments at the dinner table you can still see yourself on the other side of, moments of wide-eyed optimism about the state of politics and random assertions about how the world works that remind you that they are gaining new filters— their own filters. And all of this is good. But it’s still a poignant reminder that they can come home, but this will never really, truly be home again.
It’s a painful, beautiful thing watching an adult child outgrow the world you so carefully crafted for them, around them. It’s a gentle nod from the Father that yes, you are doing this parenting thing right. Your son or daughter was never meant to live under your roof or rest under your wing for a lifetime. Instead, like the final weeks of pregnancy, when you’re sure there’s no way your body can stretch to accommodate the fully-formed baby testing out his limbs inside of you, our homes bulge with the effort of providing the last years of nourishment and preparation needed before the final flight into careers and families and lives fully their own. And just like those last weeks of pregnancy where our awe of the creative process in which the Lord has allowed us to be a part is mixed with a discomfort from the realities of a full-term infant taking up space in our body, so to is life with adult children. There is so much joy, and so much careful dancing between the growing number of grown ups in the home.
But this break, at least, has been heavy on the joy. Having Mary Hannah and Mathaus home has filled in the daily gaps in our circle— the gaps where we still look for Mary Hannah’s ever-present hugs, or Mathaus’ dry humor, the gaps where Mary Hannah encourages someone as they struggle, or where Mathaus steps in to offer assistance in any circumstance. There have been countless hugs, far too many brotherly wrestling matches, and— my favorite— evenings with “the big people. After everyone under 12 is in bed, all of us gather around a game or chat, maybe even reading on our own but looking up from time to time and sharing our thoughts with one another. We’ve talked books, theology, relationships, travel. Last night, we watched the Democratic Debate and my heart was full— not just from the depth of conversation I heard from my children, but by the fact that we were here, together, eating brownies and exchanging thoughts and generally being the kind of people we are.
They return to school on Sunday. Real life, such as it is, resumes then. Them at school, taking classes, teaching classes, working, sharing time with the people who may just be the folks they will watch presidential debates with when they are in their 40s and grateful to have their own college kids under their roof for a long week. For us, it will be a continuation of the everyday, with their absence as a norm. Two months in to this rhythm, and we’ve all found a comfortable place of daily contact with no heavy feelings of loss amidst the separation.
We’ll come together again at Thanksgiving, when three generations gather around our table and praise God for the gifts we have received. As always, family will be near the top of the list. Family… and its constancy of love even amidst its changing face.