I think he'll be OK

When my oldest child left for college, I wandered around his empty room sobbing. He was in a special program for freshmen which sent him off to London for his first semester. His dad drove him to JFK; I stayed home. I knew I couldn't say goodbye to him in the airport without becoming a blubbery mess. As I wandered, I wondered: Had I done enough to prepare him to cope in the world? The life of a college student is not exactly the “real world,” I know that. But he would be off my radar, with an ocean between us. At the time, he was a private person and emails and phone calls were rare. He tried to reassure me that he was fine and if he needed anything he would let me know. I backed off, but I didn't like it.
By late September, his bedroom was transformed. By extension, so was I. Closets were cleaned and cleared and rugs were shampooed. I started collecting paint chips to replace the decade old Little Boy Blue walls. In my mind, I rearranged and replaced furniture. Lists of CDs and books were made: What can be tossed? What should be saved? I didn't want to do too much too soon as I knew he would be home in December and I didn't want him to feel displaced, but I enjoyed just standing in the doorway, admiring the clean and non-adolescent smell.
As part of my transformation, I stopped automatically choosing his favorite foods while at the grocery store. No more Sesame Blue Tortilla Chips and hot salsa for the cart. Back in late August, right after he left, the sight of Amy's Cheese and Bean Enchiladas in the frozen food case would cause my eyes to tear up. I was able to cruise by the glass case display without even a glance by mid-Fall. I began to appreciate that there were no more fights over who could take the car on a weekend night. He always claimed he had first dibs because he was the oldest; this argument didn't fly with either his younger sister or me. Now, use of the car was just between my daughter and me so there was only one kid to argue with. Progress.
In November, the family flew to London for Thanksgiving weekend. He looked different: new haircut, rough beard. He confidently showed us around the city while navigating the Tube and he introduced us to new friends. He chose the restaurants for dinner. Our daughter spent a couple of nights in his dorm, showing us a glimmer of life with two kids out of the house. We found out later that the girls in the dorm wanted to take his younger sister out to clubs at night; big brother wouldn't let them. At the end of our visit I wasn't saddened by the separation – quite the opposite. I was delighted at the confident, self-assured young man who seemed to transform after a mere three months away from home.
A funny thing happens when you know your child is happy and healthy and out of the house, more or less on his own. You begin to enjoy it. You begin to get used to the relative quiet, the lower grocery bills, the smaller pile of laundry. You don't have to wait up at night until you hear the garage door open and close. You begin to realize that no news is good news. You even may begin to think your job is done.