When your first child goes to university

Nearly a year ago my daughter expressed she’d like to go to university in Edinburgh. I said that was fine, we’d go and look but inside I was thinking ‘how will you cope being so far from home?’

Fast forward to this summer and she was going whether I liked it or not. I didn’t take into account that the Scottish summer term finishes earlier than the English one so she was due to move in much sooner than I anticipated. Coupled with the fact she only turned 18 two weeks before she left meant I hardly saw her due to elongated birthday and exam celebrations.

The day comes and I’m just about coping. I try to push down the sad feelings as I don’t want to spoil what is an exciting time for her. She is most definitely ready to step into adult hood where as I am left wondering where the last 18 years have gone and how I can get them back.

I busy myself with helping her pack the car, it’s full to the brim with not even the full contents of her room. We squeeze in the precious cargo of her house plants, (she’s probably the only student who had ‘small watering can’ on her Ikea shopping list!) and get ready to leave. I held back tears as I sat and watched her grip the dog tightly before we left, this was going to be hard! She holds it together for the first five minutes of the journey then bursts into tears, this then sets me off. I’d like to say she was crying about leaving the family home and maybe missing us but she was crying about the dog.

We chatted away on the four hour long journey and I tried to soak it all in knowing I possibly won’t see her until Christmas. We arrived in Edinburgh and spent a lovely evening together before the big day tomorrow. I hardly slept that night, I had a horrible mixture of dread and sadness floating around my body. This was way more difficult than I had envisaged.

We’re up bright and early and head to the accommodation. Keys (well fob) are collected and we begin the mammoth task of emptying the car and filling the flat. I decide I’m feeling ok this morning and that yesterday was the worst day because she left the family home. I was to be proved very wrong! We spend three hours going backwards and forwards to the car and then two hours shopping for bedding, kitchenware and food. By this point I am tired, hungry and probably a little hormonal. It gets to the point where there is not much more we can do to help her.

I’m not sure why they had to say it but they did, if they hadn’t maybe I would have been fine when we left. I was in my comfort zone being all practical, busy ignoring my emotions. “We’re waiting for you to cry mum”. And there we go, the tears instantly fell. It’s a good job she wasn’t remotely bothered about being left in a different country (well she technically is) as I sobbed into her shoulder. The thing was I wasn’t even crying as much as my body needed to so maybe I was holding it together a bit (or so I like to tell myself). We head to the car once I’ve composed myself and have one last hug before we wave goodbye and drive the long journey home.

About ten minutes into the journey my eyes well up again and tears silently roll down my cheeks, this continues to happen periodically throughout the whole journey. When I arrive home I feel broken, I immediately crumble as my husband hugs me. I sob in the foetal position for what feels like forever.

The following few days feel like I am grieving. Nobody tells you this. It’s horrendous. I randomly burst into tears and I’ve not got much of an appetite. I can’t even go in her bedroom. The door remains shut as I can’t look in it and see the empty walls where posters used to be or the windowsill that’s devoid of plants. Having spoken to other people who have been through this it’s not uncommon which gives me some comfort. Twelve days on and it is getting easier, the random crying has stopped, although if this blog was written on paper it would be slightly soggy, and I have been in her room. I’m thankful that I have had lots of phone calls with her and she still seems really happy. I do have to laugh at the random texts about adulting and how rubbish it can be but she’s taken to adult life like a duck to water. She got herself a job within two days of being there and dealt with the many issues that come with being an English student at a Scottish university.

Being a mum is bloody hard, reflecting back on my parenting I would definitely do some things differently but I also acknowledge I need a pat on the back. I’ve raised a thoughtful, ambitious person who was ready to go out into the world and for that I should be proud.