Closing A Door When Your Child Moves Out

My daughter moved out. She was one of the lucky ones that found a job right after she graduated from college. Honestly, it was all a blur as it happened so quickly.  It seemed like we were just celebrating her graduation (and no more tuition bills) when she got the call and they made her an offer. So, off to Indiana she went: taking a part of me with her.  I think I packed it away with some of the tears.

Anyways, that’s when it started. The Disagreement over the Door.

It was maybe a few days after we had moved her into her new “home” when my husband shut the door to her bedroom.  (I’m not ready to say “her old bedroom”, yet. I’m getting there.)

“Let’s conserve energy,” he said.

He was hit with an emotional sledge hammer from me.

“DO NOT SHUT HER DOOR!  She’ll be back to visit and I want her door open!” I told him.

If I could describe the look on his face I would describe it as confusion mixed with shock. Now I hear all my sympathetic mom voices out there lambasting the man as having the sensitivity of a toad, but to be fair to my husband, my behavior up to this point, had been even tempered.

Nothing I had done had hinted that I was having a tough time with this transition. I’m sure that he wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside my head to cause that much of an outburst. After all, he was just closing a door for Pete’s sake!  Of course he didn’t know:  I didn’t totally get it myself! 

What my husband didn’t realize, and it took me months to sort through, was the symbolism that closed door had for me.  I was entering a new path in life and wasn’t quite ready to “shut the door."  There really was justification for his “I don’t get it” look. 

There was a tug of war going on between the logical muse in me (“Come on!  He’s just closing a door!”) and my emotional muse (“Wow!  She really moved out!”)  I could really relate to the scenes in Father of the Bride when Steve Martin kept seeing his daughter as a small child rather than the adult that she was. Logic was not faring so well with me at this early stage!

In the weeks ahead, I moved from opening the door wide one day to closing it partially the next.  I would walk into her room and see all of that space and just stand there.  I wasn’t really thinking of anything when I did this; just standing there, getting used to the open feeling of her room (you’ll notice I’m not saying empty.  I don’t need to regress, when I’ve worked my way out of being a human fountain!). 

But I still never completely closed the door. After a lot of self counseling and a huge abuse of my friends’ sympathetic ears (thanks girlfriends, you know who you are!), I slowly began to plan the second half of my life.

By the time we moved my son back home from college months later, I had progressed enough to move her “things left behind” into his room so that he could now have the bigger room. (He had lost the coin toss when we moved into the house and was ready to stake his claim!)  When everything was moved, I shut the door to her room- all the way.  It was time for everyone to move on.

Now, I’m digging deep into the past and remembering what I used to like to do BK (before kids). My husband is happy I am no longer a human fountain when I stand in front of her room.  My son is relieved that his sister is blazing the path for this adjustment, first.  My daughter is enjoying having her own place and (up until this blog) I’ve managed to keep her somewhat oblivious to my struggle (I’m doing fine, Jenna!  You’ve made us both proud!). 

I really am happy for both of my children as they discover and plan their lives with Mom and Dad relegated as visitors to their world. In the end, I have consoled my emotional muse by reminding her of the story of the Wizard of Oz:  the door to home doesn’t close completely, it just opens to another path.

After all, there really is no place like home.