Countdown to I-Day... How do you say "good bye" ?
- Thread starter SconniDad
- Start date
Happy2BaNavyMom
5-Year Member
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2017
- Messages
- 115
I just posted this on my personal FB page. A friend shared it and it resonated with me. I hope it helps! It is not nothing. There will be a "sea of change". That pride you feel right now doesn't dim. At least, it hasn't for me. Be honest. I'm not a bite your lip kind of person. My DS knows every day how much I love him. He is finishing up his Plebe year now. I texted him yesterday (and his sisters who are both non-Military and in very different places in their lives). Told each of them how much I love them, pray for them, and think of them so very often. 5 minutes later, he called. My almost Plebe no More was my youngest. Here it is:
"It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing, either..."
I feel like this little boy walked out the door today, not the fine young man we've raised. Today is hard. Very hard.
"I wasn't wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it wasn't the end of the world when first one child, then another , and then the last packed their bags and left for college.
But it was the end of something. ``Can you pick me up, Mom?" ``What's for dinner?" ``What do you think?"
I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming.
And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow.
And then they were gone, one after the other.
``They'll be back," my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals -- not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.
Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend's. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. ``How was school?" answered for years in too much detail. ``And then he said . . . and then I said to him. . . ." Then hardly answered at all.
Always, knowing his friends.
Her favorite show.
What he had for breakfast.
What she wore to school.
What he thinks.
How she feels.
My friend Beth's twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are her fourth and fifth children. She's been down this road three times before. You'd think it would get easier.
``I don't know what I'm going to do without them," she has said every day for months.
And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?
A chapter ends. Another chapter begins. One door closes and another door opens. The best thing a parent can give their child is wings. I read all these things when my children left home and thought then what I think now: What do these words mean?
Eighteen years isn't a chapter in anyone's life. It's a whole book, and that book is ending and what comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone before.
Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding and disciplining, everything hands -on. Now?
Now the kids are young adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it's not just a chapter change. It's a sea change.
As for a door closing? Would that you could close a door and forget for even a minute your children and your love for them and your fear for them, too. And would that they occupied just a single room in your head. But they're in every room in your head and in your heart.
As for the wings analogy? It's sweet. But children are not birds. Parents don't let them go and build another nest and have all new offspring next year.
Saying goodbye to your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy sayings make it seem. Because that's what going to college is. It's goodbye.
It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy.
But it's not nothing, either.
To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts.
To let go of a child, a body changes, too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time.
The drive home alone without them is the worst. And the first few days. But then it gets better. The kids call, come home, bring their friends, fill the house with their energy again.
Life does go on.
``Can you give me a ride to the mall?" ``Mom, make him stop!" I don't miss this part of parenting, playing chauffeur and referee. But I miss them, still, all these years later, the children they were, at the dinner table, beside me on the couch, talking on the phone, sleeping in their rooms, safe, home, mine...."
- Beverly Beckham
"It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing, either..."
"I wasn't wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it wasn't the end of the world when first one child, then another , and then the last packed their bags and left for college.
But it was the end of something. ``Can you pick me up, Mom?" ``What's for dinner?" ``What do you think?"
I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming.
And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow.
And then they were gone, one after the other.
``They'll be back," my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals -- not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.
Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend's. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. ``How was school?" answered for years in too much detail. ``And then he said . . . and then I said to him. . . ." Then hardly answered at all.
Always, knowing his friends.
Her favorite show.
What he had for breakfast.
What she wore to school.
What he thinks.
How she feels.
My friend Beth's twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are her fourth and fifth children. She's been down this road three times before. You'd think it would get easier.
``I don't know what I'm going to do without them," she has said every day for months.
And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?
A chapter ends. Another chapter begins. One door closes and another door opens. The best thing a parent can give their child is wings. I read all these things when my children left home and thought then what I think now: What do these words mean?
Eighteen years isn't a chapter in anyone's life. It's a whole book, and that book is ending and what comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone before.
Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding and disciplining, everything hands -on. Now?
Now the kids are young adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it's not just a chapter change. It's a sea change.
As for a door closing? Would that you could close a door and forget for even a minute your children and your love for them and your fear for them, too. And would that they occupied just a single room in your head. But they're in every room in your head and in your heart.
As for the wings analogy? It's sweet. But children are not birds. Parents don't let them go and build another nest and have all new offspring next year.
Saying goodbye to your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy sayings make it seem. Because that's what going to college is. It's goodbye.
It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy.
But it's not nothing, either.
To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts.
To let go of a child, a body changes, too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time.
The drive home alone without them is the worst. And the first few days. But then it gets better. The kids call, come home, bring their friends, fill the house with their energy again.
Life does go on.
``Can you give me a ride to the mall?" ``Mom, make him stop!" I don't miss this part of parenting, playing chauffeur and referee. But I miss them, still, all these years later, the children they were, at the dinner table, beside me on the couch, talking on the phone, sleeping in their rooms, safe, home, mine...."
- Beverly Beckham
- Joined
- Apr 9, 2017
- Messages
- 9,367
marinemom114
Member
- Joined
- Feb 20, 2018
- Messages
- 40
Same!
I just posted this on my personal FB page. A friend shared it and it resonated with me. I hope it helps! It is not nothing. There will be a "sea of change". That pride you feel right now doesn't dim. At least, it hasn't for me. Be honest. I'm not a bite your lip kind of person. My DS knows every day how much I love him. He is finishing up his Plebe year now. I texted him yesterday (and his sisters who are both non-Military and in very different places in their lives). Told each of them how much I love them, pray for them, and think of them so very often. 5 minutes later, he called. My almost Plebe no More was my youngest. Here it is:
"It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing, either..."I feel like this little boy walked out the door today, not the fine young man we've raised. Today is hard. Very hard.
"I wasn't wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it wasn't the end of the world when first one child, then another , and then the last packed their bags and left for college.
But it was the end of something. ``Can you pick me up, Mom?" ``What's for dinner?" ``What do you think?"
I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming.
And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow.
And then they were gone, one after the other.
``They'll be back," my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals -- not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.
Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend's. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. ``How was school?" answered for years in too much detail. ``And then he said . . . and then I said to him. . . ." Then hardly answered at all.
Always, knowing his friends.
Her favorite show.
What he had for breakfast.
What she wore to school.
What he thinks.
How she feels.
My friend Beth's twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are her fourth and fifth children. She's been down this road three times before. You'd think it would get easier.
``I don't know what I'm going to do without them," she has said every day for months.
And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?
A chapter ends. Another chapter begins. One door closes and another door opens. The best thing a parent can give their child is wings. I read all these things when my children left home and thought then what I think now: What do these words mean?
Eighteen years isn't a chapter in anyone's life. It's a whole book, and that book is ending and what comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone before.
Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding and disciplining, everything hands -on. Now?
Now the kids are young adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it's not just a chapter change. It's a sea change.
As for a door closing? Would that you could close a door and forget for even a minute your children and your love for them and your fear for them, too. And would that they occupied just a single room in your head. But they're in every room in your head and in your heart.
As for the wings analogy? It's sweet. But children are not birds. Parents don't let them go and build another nest and have all new offspring next year.
Saying goodbye to your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy sayings make it seem. Because that's what going to college is. It's goodbye.
It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy.
But it's not nothing, either.
To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts.
To let go of a child, a body changes, too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time.
The drive home alone without them is the worst. And the first few days. But then it gets better. The kids call, come home, bring their friends, fill the house with their energy again.
Life does go on.
``Can you give me a ride to the mall?" ``Mom, make him stop!" I don't miss this part of parenting, playing chauffeur and referee. But I miss them, still, all these years later, the children they were, at the dinner table, beside me on the couch, talking on the phone, sleeping in their rooms, safe, home, mine...."
- Beverly Beckham
Wow! That hits home. Thanks for sharing. I appreciate all the feedback. Sometimes it's very reassuring knowing that others have the same anxieties and excitement.
I've wondered about these intense feelings of pride, as to whether or not they'll eventually dull or subside. I'm just as proud today as I was back when he received his appointment. I'm grateful for all the information and support that this site has provided.
I just posted this on my personal FB page. A friend shared it and it resonated with me. I hope it helps! It is not nothing. There will be a "sea of change". That pride you feel right now doesn't dim. At least, it hasn't for me. Be honest. I'm not a bite your lip kind of person. My DS knows every day how much I love him. He is finishing up his Plebe year now. I texted him yesterday (and his sisters who are both non-Military and in very different places in their lives). Told each of them how much I love them, pray for them, and think of them so very often. 5 minutes later, he called. My almost Plebe no More was my youngest. Here it is:
"It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing, either..."I feel like this little boy walked out the door today, not the fine young man we've raised. Today is hard. Very hard.
"I wasn't wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it wasn't the end of the world when first one child, then another , and then the last packed their bags and left for college.
But it was the end of something. ``Can you pick me up, Mom?" ``What's for dinner?" ``What do you think?"
I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming.
And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow.
And then they were gone, one after the other.
``They'll be back," my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals -- not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.
Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend's. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. ``How was school?" answered for years in too much detail. ``And then he said . . . and then I said to him. . . ." Then hardly answered at all.
Always, knowing his friends.
Her favorite show.
What he had for breakfast.
What she wore to school.
What he thinks.
How she feels.
My friend Beth's twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are her fourth and fifth children. She's been down this road three times before. You'd think it would get easier.
``I don't know what I'm going to do without them," she has said every day for months.
And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?
A chapter ends. Another chapter begins. One door closes and another door opens. The best thing a parent can give their child is wings. I read all these things when my children left home and thought then what I think now: What do these words mean?
Eighteen years isn't a chapter in anyone's life. It's a whole book, and that book is ending and what comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone before.
Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding and disciplining, everything hands -on. Now?
Now the kids are young adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it's not just a chapter change. It's a sea change.
As for a door closing? Would that you could close a door and forget for even a minute your children and your love for them and your fear for them, too. And would that they occupied just a single room in your head. But they're in every room in your head and in your heart.
As for the wings analogy? It's sweet. But children are not birds. Parents don't let them go and build another nest and have all new offspring next year.
Saying goodbye to your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy sayings make it seem. Because that's what going to college is. It's goodbye.
It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy.
But it's not nothing, either.
To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts.
To let go of a child, a body changes, too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time.
The drive home alone without them is the worst. And the first few days. But then it gets better. The kids call, come home, bring their friends, fill the house with their energy again.
Life does go on.
``Can you give me a ride to the mall?" ``Mom, make him stop!" I don't miss this part of parenting, playing chauffeur and referee. But I miss them, still, all these years later, the children they were, at the dinner table, beside me on the couch, talking on the phone, sleeping in their rooms, safe, home, mine...."
- Beverly Beckham
Wow! That hits home. Thanks for sharing. I appreciate all the feedback. Sometimes it's very reassuring knowing that others have the same anxieties and excitement.
I've wondered about these intense feelings of pride, as to whether or not they'll eventually dull or subside. I'm just as proud today as I was back when he received his appointment. I'm grateful for all the information and support that this site has provided.
Wait until you see them in a candid shot from Plebe summer. Join the Alumni Association and play "Where's Waldo all summer like DW. If those didn't make you proud, wait until you see their USNA portrait. I've shown those pictures more than the baby pictures. Good Luck.
HuskyPilot
Member
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2016
- Messages
- 110
How about - goodbye.
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2010
- Messages
- 5,854
Actually, the tradition is that when you see the Chapel Dome after 3/C Cruise, you are now a "Youngster"
We said our see-ya later's at the airport; DS decided to go it alone so we dropped him off here is Michigan and he went out USNA by himself. I will preface this and say he spent one year at University in NROTC so the Navy had him already for a year. He saw I-day through different eyes if you will, and had no regrets we were not there.
As mentioned above somewhere, it really is see-ya later. We've been to Annapolis more than a few times in 2 years, so we see him when we can because we know after commissioning it will be a different story. It's easy to create a trip to Annapolis since it a great to-visit town.
He's slogging through finals right now, but is doing great. He'll be home next week after the last exam to chill with the fam a bit.
It goes by really, really fast.
As mentioned above somewhere, it really is see-ya later. We've been to Annapolis more than a few times in 2 years, so we see him when we can because we know after commissioning it will be a different story. It's easy to create a trip to Annapolis since it a great to-visit town.
He's slogging through finals right now, but is doing great. He'll be home next week after the last exam to chill with the fam a bit.
It goes by really, really fast.
Happy2BaNavyMom
5-Year Member
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2017
- Messages
- 115
Sadly, no. I won't be there. I will be glued to my computer watching the live stream from California. We have to pick and choose when we can go and we have decided 2018 will be our year to go to Army/NAVY game! I do, however, have LOTS of mamas who are going to pass a hug to my DS, from me.
marinemom114
Member
- Joined
- Feb 20, 2018
- Messages
- 40
Sigh. It’s so hard to be out here in Cali with a kid going across the country. My son will be at VMI, which sometimes feels only accessible by helicopter, and we too must choose carefully which events we can attend. It’s starting to hit me now that the admissions/scholarship stresses are over. Need new distractions, stat!
Sorry to hear...please enjoy the live stream.
Btw, you can be the first on this side to fend off @brovol, @DrMom and the rest of them at the Army Navy game. Bring with you the flip flops (70’s a few years ago), the long coat (cold and snowy last year), and most importantly the WIN we deserve from Cali!
GO NAVY
BEAT ARMY
We didn't say goodbye on I-day; and Hoops is right again. Looking back I-day was an introduction to "See you soon".
We live on the West Coast, and traveled to Annapolis with our DD. She had been engaged with her A level exams at school and national Comp in her sport thru May. June was kind of a whirlwind of getting ready and saying goodbye to her friends. We didn't take her sister or any relatives with us, so those days in Annapolis were between DD, and her Mom and Dad (I think thats the best course but families differ).
Over those three days we spent in Annapolis we never said goodbye to DD. We were, "Mom and Dad", trying to figure out how best to support DD. She had said so many goodbyes in such a short time. Mom and I didn't feel like adding ours. The goodbyes were all hers on I-day. Note: for me the most difficult was the ride to the airport and look on her face as we drove away from the amazing home we'd made for her to grow up in.
It really isn't so bad for parents on I-day, or for us "West Coast" and "Flyover" folks the "I-day Weekend". You have last minute stuff to do, you walk around town and campus to see where you kid will be living, get ready to provision and send that first Care-Package from the Annapolis post office. The great thing for both you and your kid will be the presence of all the Plebes-to-be and thier partents in Annapolis that weekend. For DW and I, this was the first time we really got a sense of the quality of the young people who are selected to attend USNA, and the kind of parents who raise that kind of kid.
My strongest suggestion to any plebe parent on I-Day is to reach out to the plebes and parents around you. They are easy to pick out on the streets of Annapolis that weekend, easier still on I-Day itself. All the parents are in the same boat,----their kid is leaving home; proud but a little worried, Etc.. Its so easy to ask if their kid is a plebe-to-be? where they are from? It was my experience that every parent was anxious to talk, and feeling apart of that USNA CL 2020 parent community really helped. One of the best things for me was watching my wife become a "Navy Mom" that weekend. She'd had her reservations about USNA. Her mantra was "DD can bail anytime in the first two years"). Like most kids attending USNA, DD could have gone just about anywhere to school and where we live, most people think you are nuts to choose USNA over other College options. That I-day weekend meeting the Plebes and , melted DW's doubts away (I have the bill from the mid store to prove it).
Back to the "Wisdom of Hoop's" you don't say goodbye; you say "see you on PPW", then "See You Thanksgiving" Etc. To your point, and your wisdom; on I-day your DS will be hugely stressed (his whole life changes radically in one day). I'd wager that he will look over at you more than once on I-Day with a "holy-shipt, I'm on My own! what am I gonna do without Dad to have my back" look on his face. You will remember that look, and IMHO the look on your face ought to be "You've got this" not "Goodbye"------------- I'd encourage you not to dwell on "Goodbye".
Couple more things:
1) Your kid was gonna change over the next few years anyway right? The Navy just compresses the hell out of that schedule. That speed of change is ultimately harder on a parent than the Mid, but.......... it is so worth it.
2) If your kid were going away to school in another state, you'd still be reduced to visits in summer and on holidays. Your kid would still get homesick, you kid would still get lonely. At USNA my DD have been home sick (she is right now) but she is never lonely, her bonds with students at USNA are vastly stronger than those of "college friends".
3) IMO I-Day was a piece of cake compared to Sunday night at the end of PPW. When you leave your kid on I-day you are leaving them to a crucible. When you leave your kid at the end of PPW you realize that they have aquired a new home. You are still Dad, but USNA is a new home. Walking away that PPW Sunday was tough.
We live on the West Coast, and traveled to Annapolis with our DD. She had been engaged with her A level exams at school and national Comp in her sport thru May. June was kind of a whirlwind of getting ready and saying goodbye to her friends. We didn't take her sister or any relatives with us, so those days in Annapolis were between DD, and her Mom and Dad (I think thats the best course but families differ).
Over those three days we spent in Annapolis we never said goodbye to DD. We were, "Mom and Dad", trying to figure out how best to support DD. She had said so many goodbyes in such a short time. Mom and I didn't feel like adding ours. The goodbyes were all hers on I-day. Note: for me the most difficult was the ride to the airport and look on her face as we drove away from the amazing home we'd made for her to grow up in.
It really isn't so bad for parents on I-day, or for us "West Coast" and "Flyover" folks the "I-day Weekend". You have last minute stuff to do, you walk around town and campus to see where you kid will be living, get ready to provision and send that first Care-Package from the Annapolis post office. The great thing for both you and your kid will be the presence of all the Plebes-to-be and thier partents in Annapolis that weekend. For DW and I, this was the first time we really got a sense of the quality of the young people who are selected to attend USNA, and the kind of parents who raise that kind of kid.
My strongest suggestion to any plebe parent on I-Day is to reach out to the plebes and parents around you. They are easy to pick out on the streets of Annapolis that weekend, easier still on I-Day itself. All the parents are in the same boat,----their kid is leaving home; proud but a little worried, Etc.. Its so easy to ask if their kid is a plebe-to-be? where they are from? It was my experience that every parent was anxious to talk, and feeling apart of that USNA CL 2020 parent community really helped. One of the best things for me was watching my wife become a "Navy Mom" that weekend. She'd had her reservations about USNA. Her mantra was "DD can bail anytime in the first two years"). Like most kids attending USNA, DD could have gone just about anywhere to school and where we live, most people think you are nuts to choose USNA over other College options. That I-day weekend meeting the Plebes and , melted DW's doubts away (I have the bill from the mid store to prove it).
Back to the "Wisdom of Hoop's" you don't say goodbye; you say "see you on PPW", then "See You Thanksgiving" Etc. To your point, and your wisdom; on I-day your DS will be hugely stressed (his whole life changes radically in one day). I'd wager that he will look over at you more than once on I-Day with a "holy-shipt, I'm on My own! what am I gonna do without Dad to have my back" look on his face. You will remember that look, and IMHO the look on your face ought to be "You've got this" not "Goodbye"------------- I'd encourage you not to dwell on "Goodbye".
Couple more things:
1) Your kid was gonna change over the next few years anyway right? The Navy just compresses the hell out of that schedule. That speed of change is ultimately harder on a parent than the Mid, but.......... it is so worth it.
2) If your kid were going away to school in another state, you'd still be reduced to visits in summer and on holidays. Your kid would still get homesick, you kid would still get lonely. At USNA my DD have been home sick (she is right now) but she is never lonely, her bonds with students at USNA are vastly stronger than those of "college friends".
3) IMO I-Day was a piece of cake compared to Sunday night at the end of PPW. When you leave your kid on I-day you are leaving them to a crucible. When you leave your kid at the end of PPW you realize that they have aquired a new home. You are still Dad, but USNA is a new home. Walking away that PPW Sunday was tough.
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We’ve done it twice. Live normally. Enjoy the last couple of months. It’s a very tough thing, tougher than civilian school primarily because you convince yourself that it’s a permanent separation.
You’ll learn that’s not the case. The next four years will be a fantastic ride. You’ll see that they aren’t walled off, and you will have great, almost normal college life experiences.
Still, I-Day isn’t easy. You can’t imagine the pride you will feel, but you are also unlikely ready for the raw emotions that literally erupt when they close those big doors. (It didn’t help that our 2017 was pretty much th last Plebe through the doors.)
Bottom line: don’t obsess over it. Don’t make efforts to discuss and confront. Just live and enjoy each other. Remember this, for it’s the only advice I gave my 17 and 20. “The only difference between you and them is they know what comes next. Once you learn what comes next, you’ll be just fine.” That applies to you and me as well. I know what comes next. You will soon.
usna2021pop
5-Year Member
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2017
- Messages
- 36
Helmsdown is 100% correct. We just went through it last summer as well. I think I was worse than my wife. Our DD had hardly left before heading to USNA and we are really close. Remember that they want to be there and you need to let them grow. Especially important to send as much mail as you can during PS but always be positive. We actually gave out a ton of prestamped postcards to friends as well. The first call home was kind of rough but the 2nd one gets better and before you know it, you will see them again at parents weekend. Sign up for the alumni association pictures and you will keep busy searching. If you live close try to go to the 2nd or 3rd parade. Good luck! You will do great!