Leaving Your Heart In A College Dorm

And Realizing Darius Rucker Was Right (Messed-Up But Managing #29)

She was just a baby when I first heard the song. I remember driving through Kentucky, her in the car seat behind me, me tearing up to Darius Rucker’s It Won’t Be Like This for Long. It turns out he was right. It really won’t be like this for long. One day, all of a sudden, you’re not holding that little baby girl in a quiet living room anymore. You’re not rocking her to sleep. You’re not putting band-aids on her boo boos.

Instead, you’re in a college dorm stairwell, holding a microwave, wondering if this is what it feels like to carry your own heart up a flight of stairs. Moving your child into their college dorm is is like entering a time warp and getting stuck. And the emotions! Oh, the emotions. Joy. Pride. Nostalgia. Terror. Love. Panic. Regret. More pride. It’s absolutely crazy.

Helping this human move out, this kid who has been with you for 18 years and virtually every milestone of her life, brings up a weird blend of happiness and grief. One minute, you want to write a poem about it and the next you want to throw up. It really is like a seesaw of emotions. And right there in the middle of it all is your daughter, radiant, nervous, all grown up and not quite ready, which is exactly how you feel too.

We packed the car full with her stuff, all the familiar things, and for a minute it looked like we were fleeing a natural disaster. She took the fan she needs for sleeping, a drawer full of ramen, and, of course, the Keurig. I carried her half-ton suitcases up the stairs like a man on a mission. The mission? Not to become a grown man silently weeping into a shower caddy.

My wife had printed an Elizabeth Stone quote years ago, framed it, and stuck it on the wall near the front door: “Making the decision to have a child, it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” At the time, I thought, Okay, cute! and went back to watching football. But now? Now that’s exactly what it feels like.

You stand there and hand over your heart to a dorm room with concrete walls, a mini-fridge, and an RA who looks like she still sleeps with a nightlight. You smile. You intend to take pictures but forget because you’re caught up in the moment. You say how excited you are. You take her and her roommate out for dinner. And then, on the way home, you weep into your steering wheel a bit.

But I gotta say, she was brave. She laughed. She smiled. She turned and walked through those big dorm doors like it was no big deal. And just like that, she was gone. Off to find herself. Off to chase dreams. Off to figure out what she’ll do in this next season of life. Me, I made a u-turn and headed home feeling all the feels. Even though others try to warn you, nobody can really convey the fact that letting go feels like an Olympic-level emotional sport.

One minute, heartbreak. The next, celebration. One minute loss, the next gain. One minute, pride. The next, ache. And then this thought: Darius, you beautiful, heart-wrecking prophet...you were right. It really won’t be like this for long.

For a little while, it’ll be quieter. Lonelier. Different. And if I’m lucky, one day I’ll help her move into her own house, and she’ll say, “Dad, why are you crying again?” Then I’ll hand her a framed copy of that Elizabeth Stone quote and play her this song, because even then, it won’t be like this for long.