Letting go is hard to do: Casey’s started college – Eek!

Preschool poster showcasing Casey’s life to that point

Note: This is the first in an occasional series of posts on the empty-nest process.

Mark and I got our eldest off to Western Washington University last Saturday. We assume Casey’s doing okay. He said as much when we tried to talk to him after the big move.

“Can’t talk right now,” he texted the first time I called. “But everything is going good.”

Casey – who we call Casel, Wasel, Case and Wase — is a young man of few words . . . unless he wants or needs something. We had just dropped him off in Bellingham and were on our way to Guemes Island for a night of R&R, when Mark’s cell phone started buzzing.

Casey: Clothes hangers??????

Me: They are in the box with the bed stuff.

C: And wtf did mom take the good towels out of what I packed? (He thought he was texting Mark.)

M: I gave you 3 ½ good towels.

C: New shoes are MIA.

M: Look again. Thought I saw them.

C: Also can’t find flip flops.

M: I know I packed those.

C: Not the other ones …….Check the back (of the van).

M: There are two pairs of slides in that box.

C: Nope.

M: If there’s anything important you need, we can come back tomorrow. . . We will check the back of the van when we can pull off.

C: Found them . . . in the backpack.

M: Good. What about the other stuff?

C: I think so. Disappointed about the towels.

M: Did you find new shoes?

C: Yes

M: And hangers?

C: Yes

M: Good. Call us tonight?

Can you hear the pleading in that last message? He didn’t call. Mark and I returned to Seattle the following day, fingers crossed that he would manage to survive the next two weeks with disappointing towels.

So passed a stressful milestone, possibly more stressful for me than for him. I just about lost it last Thursday, the day I had set aside to go shopping with him for the rest of his college supplies. No amount of nudging could get him out of the basement and away from his computer game, so I finally told him he was on his own.

To his credit, he got it done, using his own money to order from Amazon everything he needed (and some things he didn’t). Second-day delivery, of course. He now has enough No. 2 pencils to last through graduate school. Or maybe he could set up a little business at Delta, the residence hall he shares with 114 others. (And yes, that was the name of the fraternity in Animal House.)

I shouldn’t worry so much. For now, he seems to be surviving without us nagging him to get up and out the door. His first test was an actual test: a math-placement exam bright and early Monday morning. He didn’t sleep through it. He didn’t forget to register for classes the next day. He didn’t sign up for Basket Weaving 101 (I don’t think there is such a class at Western).

As I write this, he’s hopefully in his History 104 class, learning about America after the Civil War. He’s also taking Economic 101 (markets and society) and Math 112 (functions and algebraic methods). He had the good sense to register for classes starting no earlier than 10 a.m.

(Mark interjects: But Casey has not opened his financial account at Western, something that would allow us to transfer our state’s GET funds, his housing allowance and other fees to his chosen school.  Sigh . . . you can lead a child to debt-free education but you can’t make him . . .)

At some point, I just have to trust that his fledgling wings will carry him. He’s a smart kid who has, for the most part, steered clear of trouble. Knock on wood.

Still a little more communication would be nice, something beyond the one- and two-word answers he gave us when we finally did speak with him Wednesday night. What I’d give for an adjective or two, if only to be assured that he does, in fact, feel.

Okay. That’s not fair. I know he feels. He fawns over his dog, Ben, and has been known to say to us, “I love you, too.”

He has a secret sentimental side. I saw evidence of it cleaning out his bedroom. You can learn a lot about a person by the things they choose to keep.

I was careful to pack away in a box anything that wasn’t obvious trash. This included a stuffed bear he’s had since he arrived from Korea, a  fifth-grade book report he labored over, a framed photograph of Ken Griffey, Jr. (when he was still a Mariner), a preschool poster showcasing his life, and a note with distinctly female handwriting that says, “You are nice thanks for lending me a stats book one time.”

So, there is a human in there.

Casey, if you’re reading this, I’m having a little fun here. You know I love you to pieces and wish you all the best at Western. Please remember to brush your teeth.

Next up: Reclaiming the space.