DIANE MAKAR MURPHY A new stage in life begins for mother and son

I left today's column open because Sunday was to be an important day -- a day that would inspire an article. Sunday was the day we took my son Josh to college at Ohio State University and said goodbye.
It had the promise of inspiring a poignant article at face value alone -- first-born son heads off to life on own; mostly stay-at-home mom is reminded that end of important career is almost upon her.
And, in reality, it looked as though it would turn out that way. Saturday, when my handsome boy took out his beautiful girlfriend for a farewell dinner, he couldn't eat. He was too racked with anticipation and too upset at his goodbye.
On Saturday night, I didn't even bother trying to go to bed until 2 a.m. I sat, uncharacteristically, in front of the computer playing a juvenile computer game and trying not to think about anything.
By Sunday morning, Josh was still sick to his stomach and when my husband, John, awoke, he said he didn't feel well either. No, stomach flu didn't visit; impending departure did.
The drive
I got to drive down to Ohio State in my son's car. Hannah and John took the other car. Both carried boxes of clothes, a computer, a CD tree, three guitars and myriad other things he was told to bring by OSU. (As an afterthought, I grabbed a box of Band-Aids, scissors and antibiotic ointment because "You never know" and shoved them into one of his plastic underbed containers.)
During the ride, I was reminded how much I like my son's taste in music. He likes the 21st century version of folk music -- John Mayer, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson. Are those the right names? I think they are. (If not for him and his sister, I would still be listening to Three Dog Night and The Spinners.)
The drive was pretty pleasant, but we didn't discuss any life-sized issues. After all, he was going to Columbus, not Outer Mongolia. It was just far enough away to make me worry about him, but not far enough to feel the break completely.
Arrival
I expected to get sad somewhere between arriving in the big line of cars filled with new arrivals to OSU and our carrying his bins of move-in boxes to his room. But I didn't. Instead, I filled with rancor -- for OSU. The streets didn't seem clean enough to me, certainly not as clean as Youngstown's. Paper cups, wrappers and other trash were scattered along the roads.
Not only that, but when we finally saw his room, I noted with silent despair that it was smaller than a state penitentiary cell. Had my son stolen a vehicle, he would have had more room and privacy, I thought. I didn't say that of course. "Gosh, look at how the beds are lofted; how cool," I said.
When we went to grab a bite at the Student Union and my feet stuck to the floor in front of the Wendy's, I thought, "This floor needs to be mopped." Suddenly, I was a cleaning woman and these people were not meeting my standards (which up until that moment had been surprisingly low).
I didn't like the buildings either. And the kids didn't seem to be dressed as nicely as my son. I grudgingly admitted the place ran like a well-oiled machine, but it certainly was nothing like a home.
Saying goodbye
Where were the tears?
Josh beamed. He let me wrap my arm around him as we walked to the cars in the parking garage. He hugged me at the side of the car before giving hugs to both his dad and his sister.
(I love being hugged by Josh. He is much taller than me and his arms wrap around me completely so that one of us feels safe and secure and the other feels caring and strong. I like to think it has been that way since the first time we hugged, only I used to be the one who felt caring and strong, and he used to be the one who felt safe and secure.)
It was an awkward goodbye. We would see him again at Thanksgiving, and e-mail makes him an electronic moment away. So, it wasn't really poignant, but it was odd. Our son wouldn't be sleeping in his bed that night, nor the next, nor the next. A very good friend had moved away.
murphy@vindy.com