Being a parent is challenging. As parents, we experience the frustration of colicky babies, potty training, school days, juggling activities and the combative teenage years. There is no rulebook, and when you experience it for the first time, nothing prepares you for it.  I think of all of the memories that I have of my children’s formative years, like when they were an altar server at St. Bernard, a boy scout in Troop 238, and working as a page in high school at Mt. Lebanon Library. But I learned that the hardest part of being a parent is letting them go. Off to be an adult without you.

My son decided to take the whole “off on his own” aspect a little further when he traveled abroad and started teaching English as a second language after college. During his first year, he lived in the bustling city of Budapest, Hungary, then spent three years in Huesca, Spain, a quaint little town at the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains.

In Budapest, as in many large European cities, most people speak some English, which made Ethan’s experience there easier. Huesca, however, was different and unlike anything high school Spanish prepared him for. He was immersed and couldn’t communicate with anyone for months until he fully learned the language.

Of course, mothers worry, and I was haunted by the old cliché of him lying in a Spanish ditch somewhere. Trying to ease my mind, I asked my then 24-year-old son to give my cell number to his roommate “in case of emergency.” As the words left my mouth, I knew the answer. “Umm, Mom, no.” Not that it mattered much, because I didn’t speak Spanish and his roommate didn’t speak English so what was the point? There was one English-speaking teacher at his school and I figured if something happened, the school would probably call me. (I was his emergency contact, right?) I obsessively thought about how fast I could book a flight to Barcelona, navigate the train system to get to the larger town of Zaragoza and then to his smaller town—all without the ability to speak the language. Ugh! Thankfully, it never came to that.

I was excited for him though. He was doing well, made friends, cultivated close relationships with his roommates, Miguel and Marina, and they even adopted a cat. Everyone in town called him “The American.” When we visited, he proudly showed us around town and we hit some other cities too. It was a great trip, the kind that can only happen when you don’t have the luxury of living close by. You appreciate being together on a whole different level.

Then COVID came. Spain was one of the first countries to be hit hard and completely shut down. Ethan couldn’t leave his apartment, outside of trips to the grocery store or pharmacy. Armed police in the streets questioned why anyone was out. I couldn’t visit and he couldn’t leave. It had been a year and a half since I’d last seen him, and it was terrible, but I felt tremendous comfort knowing that he was healthy and with friends. Every parent I knew suddenly had a full house when their adult children returned from college or jobs in other cities to “work from home.” They cooked and played games together. My house was empty.

Thankfully, it ended, and he came home, hurrah, and started preparing for his next adventure.

His next destination: Hanoi, Vietnam. Why not see that part of the world, too?! He left in August of 2023 and expects to stay for two years, although plans to visit him are already swirling in my head. It’s much further away than Europe; his flight was 28 hours with three layovers. He’s experienced Vietnam’s 100-degree temperatures and 80 to 90 percent humidity in April through October, which makes me think a summer visit might not be such a good idea.

So, perhaps a January trip to Southeast Asia will be in my not-so-distant future.