Leaving for College, Not Leaving You

Dear Mamma, 

I know you think I will forget. 

Not in the big, dramatic way (like one day I’ll wake up and not remember you exist) but in the slow way—in the way that happens when people get busy, when they start new things, when life starts to change. 

I used to call Nani all the time. She’d pick up on the second ring, always acting surprised to hear from me even though she knew I’d call. She’d ask what I’d eaten, tell me how proud she was of me, and then complain about her neighbors like it was urgent news. And then, I stopped.

Just one day, I realized that I hadn’t heard her voice in weeks. Then months. Same with Missi. It was not on purpose at all, I had just gotten busy, and then busy turned into distant, and the distance turned into something I wasn’t sure how to fix. I told myself I would call them soon, and then soon stretched longer and longer until I felt guilty. And, ironically, the guilt made it even harder to reach out. 

I know that's exactly what you’re afraid of. 

You’re afraid that I’ll leave for college, and life will fill up with classes and people and deadlines, and one day I’ll wake up and realize the last time I called was a week ago. And then, that while will turn into a way too long. You’re worried I’ll start answering with a quick “I’m doing good,” instead of calling first, and then only when I need something, and eventually, I won’t even notice that something’s missing. 

I understand that. Because I am afraid of it too. 

Not just of forgetting to call, but of all the small things I won’t notice that have slipped away from me. The way you let me sit on the dining table in silence when I don’t feel like talking but don’t want to be alone. The way you’ll always leave fruits on the table for me when you know I’ll be up late doing homework. 

Of course, I don’t want to lose all of that. 

Everyone keeps asking if I’m excited to leave. I say yes because that’s the right answer. And I am, mostly. But I know you wish I’d say no, even though you would never ask me to do that. I know you want to hear that I’ll miss home as much as you’ll miss me. I will. I just don’t know how to say it in a way that makes leaving easier.

I think about the last time I was close with Nani. I used to call her just to talk, not because you told me to. At some point, the calls stopped being natural and started being something I had to remind myself to do. And then something I’d forget about completely.

I don’t want that to happen with you.

I know it won’t be the same when I leave. I won’t be there when you yell from the kitchen: “Kaavu what do you want for dinner?”. You won’t be there when I come home after a long day, throwing my bag on the floor and sighing loud enough for you to hear. I won’t tell when you’re coming to my room based on the shuffle of your house slippers. 

I can’t promise I’ll call every single day. But I promise I will never let soon turn into too long. I won’t be so silent that I don’t know how to come back from it.

It won’t happen with me and you.

I’ll call.

Kaavya