Day 4: The future looks bright – except when it doesn’t

Day 4
My daughter loves every school, big and small, rural and urban. She is either very open-minded and optimistic – or completely indecisive. I can’t decide which. At 11pm, she climbs onto my bed. Despite a grueling day, her eyes are bright, excited. “Mom, maybe I shouldn’t say this. I know you’ll miss me, but I can’t wait to go to college. The classes sound amazing. I even like the word ‘Professor.’” I smile. She is picturing various iterations of what her life might be with each campus we visit, a young woman truly on the brink, with so much yet to come, so much yet to be decided. It makes me deeply happy. I know that sadness, emptiness will come, but it is incredibly gratifying to see her enthusiasm for the life that is about to unfold. For all the mistakes, I must have done something right.
Of course, ten minutes later comes the buzz-kill: She snaps out of her happy trance and turns to me with dramatic concern: “Your life is going to be pathetic when I’m gone. I mean, what are you going to do?” she asks. I can’t help but laugh – and be slightly annoyed. I am a single mother and I date, I go out with friends, I have a life, thank you very much. “Par-tay!” I reply. She looks at me as if I am an alien creature. I feel no need to confide a recent dream: I was holding a blonde infant (much like my daughter) but when I looked again she had morphed into a cat. I woke in a panic: Is this my future, turning into a cat lady??? “Par-tay!” I repeat, though I’m not quite sure who I’m trying hardest to convince. Still, I believe the future is wide-open for both of us.

Day Two – The Monsoon

Day Two
Providence, R.I.
We wake up to a monsoon. This is no exaggeration. Within 24 hours, a state of emergency will be declared as rivers flood and roads are shut. Between the four of us we have exactly one umbrella. Nevertheless, the touring must go on. We huddle as we make our way to the car. Okay, the moms huddle – we are bigger, older, and have hair issues. Our daughters, needless to say, are not amused. We join at least 50 other people at the first college, Brown, where we trudge through puddles that looks suspiciously like lakes. Nevertheless, the tour is packed. It’s spring break and every junior on the east coast is touring. And, it seems, every junior on the east coast wants to go to Brown. Hell, I wanted to go to Brown. I joke to my daughter that we are visiting every college that rejected me. She looks at me skeptically, hoping this is not an inherited trait along with my inability to carry a tune. I’m not worried. She is smarter, a better student and more ambitious than I was at her age. I had, uh, other interests. She is, though, very forgetful, and has left her medication at home. I spend half the day trying to track down her doctor to call a refill in to a local pharmacy. It appears the 60-something doctor is also on Spring Break – in the Bahamas. My daughter cannot understand why I am upset. “At least it wasn’t my cell phone,” she says.