Simon is off to school.

If you sent a child off to Kindergarten this year, then you begin to know what it feels like to send a child off to college. Brian and I took Simon up to NAU last week. I remember what it felt like to be dropped off at NAU back in the fall of 1981, moving into my room on the 7th floor of Highrise, a then all girl's dorm. I organized my few belongings, didn't know anyone else up there. My roommate hadn't arrived yet. I sat on the edge of my bed and wondered what to do next. It was a little bit of a lonely feeling. So when we dropped Simon off on Thursday, we helped him move into his room on the 8th floor of Sechrist, the now Freshman, co-ed dorm at NAU. (By the way, who thought co-ed dorms were a good idea?!?) We organized his few belongings. His roommate wasn't there yet.

He walked us down to the car, said good-bye after I made him take a few more pics...I know...embarrassing...just leave already! Then he turned and walked back into his new home. We watched him until we couldn't see him anymore.

Does it get easier after Kindergarten?? I'd like to say yes...but after doing this twice...for me...no. In Kindergarten you hope their teacher is nice and that they get invited to play on the playground and that they don't leave their backpack on the bus. College...now you send them off with a bag of emotions (I'm taking about mine, here): hope, worry, excitement, anxiousness...you get where my mind is. Have we done everything to help him succeed? Have we taught him everything that he needs to know and do to keep him safe? Will he remember who he is? When he is faced with challenges and temptations that could lead him in the wrong direction, will he have the courage and faith to make the right decision? Will he take care of himself...get enough sleep, and eat enough? When he feels alone, will he remember that he is never really alone? Have we helped him to have a foundation of faith that will be an anchor for him when the going gets tough, as it is bound to get? I was reminded of a talk that I read recently by Henry B. Eyring, That He May Write Upon Our Hearts. Here is an excerpt that touched me as I thought about being at similar crossroads with Simon.

"In time, when the children are away from home and family, prayer can provide the shield of protection the parent will want so much for them to have. Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.

It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light which stopped the cars in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.

The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.

Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”

There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers—and even more in the prayers of my mother—for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered."

I hope that Simon can feel our prayers for him. I hope he can feel our love for him. I hope he can remember. I hope we did enough.

"A mother holds her child's hand for a while, their hearts forever."

P.S. We went back up to Flagstaff on Sunday afternoon to deliver a few more things to Simon. We shared the elevator with a young man holding two bags of groceries. We asked him how he was doing. He said, "Sad. My parents just left and my mom cried." He got off on the 6th floor. I hope he has a nice roommate. I loved his heartfelt honesty. This separation thing is happening all over. Simon's roommate seems like a nice guy. He likes Calvin & Hobbes and The Brave Little Toaster. That was comforting.