Power Bars. That’s what did me in. A few protein-packed energy bars on a shelf actually triggered that ugly scene at our local market. The one where I abandoned the cart of groceries in the middle of the aisle, ran out into the parking lot, sobbing and sniveling until my eyes were red and swollen, my face a slippery mess.
I’m not going to try to explain it. I already did that once when my bewildered husband came rushing out after me, convinced some rude shopper must have pushed or tripped me, pulled a knife or a gun, detonated a bomb or worse.
“It was the Power Bars,” I managed to get out between sobs.
Not that I’m suggesting this will happen to you. Just because you might be sending your kid off to college for the first time in the next year or so is no reason to believe you’re susceptible to random fits of irrational behavior like I was. And there’s certainly no reason to think that a week or so after you’ve dropped him off and everything seems to be going okay, something as routine as a grocery shopping trip, something as mundane as a Power Bar, the same kind you’ve been buying every week of every year to tuck into his backpack or tennis bag without a second thought, could hit you over the head with your new reality right there in the middle of aisle five.
It will never be the same.
Now move on to the cash register.
Every year brings with it a lot of empty bedrooms. A lot of houses where the phones aren’t buzzing as much. The refrigerator door doesn’t open as often. The shower doesn’t run as frequently.
After all the planning, touring, and visiting, the applications, essays, and interviews, sons and daughters will be sent off for the first time to higher education destinations all over the country and indeed, for some, the world. Even if the college is an easy drive away, it’s still not the same as having your child sitting behind the desk in his or her bedroom right down the hallway.
This is not all bad, of course. There are some good things about this particular stage of letting go. Some great things, actually. More time for yourself. More freedom. But if you’re anything like me, it’s going to take some getting used to. And I’ll admit, The Great Power Bar Drama happened after our oldest headed to school in Washington, DC, while our daughter was still under our watchful eye in grade school just a few miles away. What on earth would I eventually be capable of when she inevitably would take off on her own? (Let’s just say the empty nest was not an easy transition for me. In fact, it compelled me to write an entire book! But that’s another story.)
What helped me cope with my oldest leaving home was an idea I used from time to time through the years to pull my kids through a particularly difficult week at school. “The Friday Surprise” wasn’t much at first. A pack of gum. A comic book. A crazy pen. Something, anything to surprise and delight them. Before long, it became a marker in their young lives, an incentive they could look forward to at the end of a week’s work well done. TGIF for kids.
And it was on that long, quiet ride home after dropping our son in Washington, DC that The Friday Surprise came back to me. What a perfect way for me to keep in touch with my son. To tuck a little taste, scent, and touch of home into the mail each week. To send a bit of mothering when I couldn’t be there to do it myself.
Just the act of sending cards and letters and Twizzlers and a red plastic duck and yes, of course, Power Bars was soothing to me. Therapeutic even. Sometimes an envelope, sometimes a box, but every Friday I mailed something to our son.
Then one Friday in February, I got my own surprise. I remember it vividly. Our daughter was home sick from school and we were reading in an upstairs bedroom when there was an unexpected knock at the door. There on the front steps stood my friend Sharon, a cup of coffee in her hand.
“I felt bad that you were cooped up, so I brought this for you,” she said with a grin. A very big grin. And then, I saw what else she had brought for me. Someone was getting out of her car. A son. My son! He had come home for the weekend by plane, by bus, and then called my friend for a ride.
“A Friday Surprise for you, Mom,” he said. And for a rare moment, I was unable to say anything at all.
So, in the next few years, if you happen to find yourself missing your kid who’s gone off for the first time, give The Friday Surprise a try. I hope it’ll bring you many happy returns.
Originally published on the author’s Substack
by Cherith Fluker 
by Amy Keyes 
