They Still Need You!

Launching Your Child—One Year Later

by Robin Bonner

Where She Is Now
When we talked about a year ago (see Launching Your Child into the Adult World, in the spring 2008 issue of Empty Nest), our daughter Sarah was, well, “launching” into the adult world: living in New York City, graduating from college, auditioning for stage and screen, and working to support herself. And we were busy cutting the financial umbilical cord, transforming our all-inclusive support system to one of mainly hugs, emails, and phone calls (and the occasional bag of groceries).

Fast forward a year. Seeking lower rent, Sarah has since moved to Queens. She’s secured a part-time job as a photo editor for a NYC graphic design company. And she’s still auditioning for film and theatre. She’s racked up experience (and secured coveted footage, for “reels”) in student films. She’s done stage work with off-off-broadway companies and paid work as an “extra.” Her acting network has expanded, she can offer business cards as well as head shots, and her Web site is up, though still under construction. In short, a lot has happened; progress has been made.

Finances
As for finances, it was a year of ups and downs. My client who provided the biggest source of income to my freelancers—primarily Sarah—pulled out. The company decided to consolidate and use only a few large vendors. So, right around the holidays, Sarah began to scramble, looking for other work. She developed her publishing resume. My colleagues threw her a few jobs. But as was the case with the rest of the country, January and February brought a dry spell—with the downturn in the global economy, no one was hiring, not even the bars and restaurants that Sarah sought to fall back on in a pinch. (Like almost every up-and-coming actor, Sarah is a 10-year veteran waitress, though she hopes to never go back to it. She also holds a bartending certificate.) The outlook dimmed, and Sarah’s savings account got a workout. Did I mention that by now she was paying on a student loan?

Well, with the spring came a lead for work from a friend with the company Bill Smith Group. Sarah is now managing photo projects for BSG’s clients and loving it (on most days—on others, she’s tearing her hair out to meet deadlines). She’s also learning a lot more about the publishing industry, and what it’s like to be on the “service” side of it as a manager. But the winter had hit hard, and in May, a second student loan kicked in, which meant another payment. We had told Sarah when she graduated that we would pay her medical insurance premium for a year, but, given her rough past few months, we’ve since extended the offer through the summer. Except for a 6-week stint in Philadelphia this summer, when she will teach a musical theater camp at the MacGuffin Theater and Film Company, as she’s done in years past, Sarah calls New York home.

Sometimes It’s Not About the Money
We’ve been supportive of Sarah’s independence this past year, but we no longer “support” her—only springing for the occasional dinner or Target run, as a treat. If at some point she finds that she can’t pay the rent in New York, she’ll need to make other arrangements—even if that means moving home to regroup. But Sarah values her independence (and loves the NYC life style), so she forges ahead, willing to work hard to stay where she is.

Sometimes, though, it’s not about finances. Sarah’s had her share of computer woes, which can be tough on a freelancer who makes her living with one. Step in IT-Guy Dad with advice (and sometimes hardware), to supplement her friends, who also help out. In fact, Sarah’s developed a large support group of friends, and her parents and other relatives are counted among them.

I get the occasional “from the kitchen” phone call from Sarah, as does her grandmother. “What’s your pumpkin pie recipe, Grandmom? I want this to taste just like yours.” (After that call, Grandmom put ground cloves in a ziplock baggie and mailed it to Sarah, so she wouldn’t have to buy it herself. Not sure what the post office thought about the mysterious powder in that envelope, but it did reach her.) “Mom, how long will this take to cook in the crock pot?” “Far too long, as it’s only an hour until your party!” was my answer. Some things you can Google, and some you can’t. When Amie got her first apartment, she called all the time with such questions. We’re always happy to oblige.

Sometimes, it’s not about IT advice or help in the kitchen, either. Right now, I’m sitting on a bench in Stuyvesant Park, near the corner of 2nd Ave. and E. 17th St. in New York, across from the NYU Hospital for Joint Diseases. (Catty-corner is the Beth Israel Medical Center.) Sarah is inside NYUHJD, undergoing surgery for a torn ligament in her shoulder. She will need someone with her for a few days, to help with the household routine until she can manage the pain, heal a little, and learn to live left-handed for a while. Enter Mom. I’ve moved my work off site, so I can be at Sarah’s, to help out. Her Dad will also be up on the weekend. When older sister Amie had her wisdom teeth removed, she was already living in California and had to ask friends to fill in for her parents. If the procedure had been more complicated, I would have booked a flight anyway. We’re glad at least Sarah’s nearby—we’ve been medical advocates for our girls since they were born. It’s just something you do for your kids.

We’re in This Together
According to the U.S. Census, in 2007 more than 27% of women in the United States over 18 were unmarried, as were more than 33% of men. Thus, up to 50% of the population could be living alone. Of course, living arrangements of the unmarried can vary—from living alone to stable cohabitation to business-only roommates who are never around. In any event, almost 30 million young people between the ages of 18 and 24—typical new launches—may need a network of family and friends to be there for them in some way. Perhaps some parents may find it inconvenient to lend support to their grown children after a medical procedure, but we’re not in that group.

So, back at her apartment the next day, I look over at Sarah while she sleeps: an ice pack on her bandaged shoulder, her arm in a sling, and her pain meds on the bedside table, ready for the next dose. I wash the accumulated dishes—a tough act for Sarah, now temporarily one-handed. I think about her “bath” that morning, a 45-minute procedure that involved my securing Saran Wrap over her shoulder with first-aid tape, then her figuring out how to bathe (and wash her long hair) using only one hand. I wonder what kids do who are trying to make it on their own and don’t have a supportive group of friends and relatives. I surely don’t know.

I do know that in a day or two, I’ll leave for PA, and Sarah will “get by with a little help from her friends” until the stitches come out and, eventually, the sling comes off. But these first few days are Mom time. We’ll have lunch out if Sarah feels up to it, we’ll watch movies, and we’ll get the laundry and grocery shopping done. (Sarah will supervise; I’ll do the lugging.) It occurs to me that all this is what families are for. Gary and I will always be around for our girls in one way or another, whether they’re married or single, living near or far—doing what parents have always done. Simply because we choose to do it.

Epilogue
One of my favorite charities is Covenant House. As their Web site puts it, the organization is “the largest privately funded agency in the Americas providing shelter and other services to homeless, runaway and throwaway youth.” Their 20 facilities across the United States and other North American countries help 70,000 children each year. Covenant House helps fill the gap between two extremes—loving parents with a stable socioeconomic situation who can and do care for their teenage and young adult children, and those who either can’t or won’t. That’s why over the years, while our girls were growing up, I’ve always been drawn to Covenant House and its mission, and have supported their work. Because I also worry about those other children, the ones whose relatives and friends, for one reason or another, are not there for them.