Notice I didn’t say “might help make it easier.”

That’s because I don't know of anything. I don’t actually think any part of this is supposed to be easy. It’s an enormous transition that is at once a birth, a loss, and a metamorphosis that can feel more monumental than any phase so far.

The best we can do is move through it with compassion for everyone involved.

Especially ourselves.

I’m the mama of a soon-to-be college sophomore, writing this from the other side. I promise you will get here. But there are definitely a few things that I wish someone had told me before I arrived back home and stood in the doorway of my son’s empty bedroom. Here are those things:

1. Ditch the idea that it’s a drop-off

I know it’s the commonly-used term to describe seeing your baby bird out of the nest. But it’s baloney. Drop-off is taking them to a friend’s house. Or to the bowling alley. You’ll pick them up and bring them home in a few hours. Somehow, having the term “drop-off” in my head couched the reality that we actually leave them there. To live. With all of their stuff. They change addresses. I know “college leave-them-there-day” doesn’t have the same ring to it. But it’s more accurate.

2. Don’t schedule anything important for the following day, if you can help it

Expect your productivity and focus to go down the toilet. That might not be the case. But if it is, you won’t feel pressured to plow through the ache. I had an author panel scheduled for the following day. I thought it would be a nice distraction, and a way to get back in the professional groove without being interrupted. Instead, I ended up explaining to the audience that I dropped my kid off at college yesterday and that’s why my eyes were all red and puffy. I thought I could tough it out. Which brings me to my next point:

3. Feel everything that comes up

A well-meaning friend who saw her daughter off to college a few years earlier offered to “come over and help you not cry.” A few years ago, I would have taken her up on that. And maybe you won’t cry. But if you feel like you need to, the tears have to go somewhere. Better out than in. Those so-called negative emotions are really just an affirmation that we’re human. For me, this was a chance, however sucky, to feel the sadness and the magnitude of the separation that was commensurate with the love and connection that precipitated it.

4. Focus on the love

Continuing from that last sentence of #3, every time I gave myself permission to honor the heartache that was coming up, it was eventually followed by a feeling of gratitude for the power of the love that could cause a missing this intense. The double-edged sword of a strong connection causing equally strong sadness cuts deep. But the love is deeper. Remember that. Focus on the love that brought you to this moment.

5. Ride the roller coaster

Forget everything I just said. Sooner than you think, something that feels like spaciousness will tap you on the shoulder and be like, “here you go, enjoy this new and unfamiliar quiet time that you have all to yourself!” And you will. And then, as you are savoring the delightfulness, you will wonder what your child is doing and if they are making any friends and you will remember they won’t be walking in the door to tell you about their day. See #3. And then amid the tears you will feel relief at not having to do so much laundry. And disbelief at how much laundry they actually generated. And then you will wonder if they’re making any friends at the laundry machine. See #4.

6. Ask “Is there something I can create from all this emotion?”

Maybe it’s a piece of art. Or an online support group. Or a handwritten letter to send to your child. For me, it was this column. I’m an author and a journalist but I couldn’t write a single word in the days after he left. Other than to Google whether it was legal to kidnap your own child from college. Over the following weeks, I began drafting the survival guide I wished I’d had. That was in October. See below.

7. Hold out for October

There’s something about October. I have no idea what. Maybe it’s the fact that by that time, your child will have found that one friend. Or discovered a new subject or club that piques their interest. Or gotten into a mealtime routine. Or turned a forgotten library basement conference room into their personal office. No? Just my kid? In any event, October means you’ve made it past the first month. And that the next month will bring Thanksgiving. And Thanksgiving means that empty bed that causes an ache in your solar plexus every time you walk past it will once again be filled with your sleeping child. Who smells sort of funny. College does that, I’m not sure how. But it won’t matter. Your love for this child will have grown exponentially. Things that used to bother you, won’t. Until they do. The roller coaster continues. But this time, you’re ready for it. And you’ll know you’ve made it past the hardest part.