Preparing to Let My Baby Go
A new day
dawns. Sun rises. Birds sing. Flowers grow…
It’s a new
day. It’s as if all of creation knows, as if all of creation grows…today is a
new day for my daughter.
Today, after
years of preparation—hard work, sleepless nights, APs, SATs, ACTs, essays,
extra help, extracurricular, education—today she decides where she will spend
the next four years of her life.
The past two
years have been a road of discovery. We didn’t have to do it. We didn’t have to
travel to Chicago, Wisconsin, Indiana, Ithaca, Boston, Philly, Pittsburgh,
Washington, Williamsburg, and lots of places in between. Sometimes, it was hard
to go great distances, force ourselves to rise again, drive again. Mostly, it
was an adventure, an exploration of who this young woman, my daughter, was and
who she wants to be.
There has been laughter, tears, stress,
joy…so much life, together, as we forged this road that will lead us apart.
Really, I
can’t believe we’re here.
The years I
looked forward to, the years I once imagined of having babies, cooking family
meals, making a home, growing children, so many of these years now past. They’re
recorded in my mind, in pictures, in videos, in the trinkets, clay pinch pots,
and boxes of school momentos. And every moment is forever etched into my heart.
Amelia was born of hope.
Hope in the
wake of my husband’s terrible accident, hope that life, real life in the form
of an almost 11-pound, red-headed, wide-eyed baby would go on fully. (I know
Amelia, I know this is sometimes a burden, but I hope that mostly it is a
blessing to know that you were born of promise.)
And Amelia has not disappointed.
She’s lived
life full, taken advantage of all the best things offered, given to those in
need. She can be fiercely independent and doggedly determined, unstoppable.
Just like…me…no her dad…no…just like Amelia.
Her hair was so bright on the day of her
birth, it was shocking!
Her hair, an
almost waist-length mass of copper curls, is still that bright…and so is she.
At times,
it’s been a rocky hard couple of years. For us, mother and daughter, it has
definitely been a time of separating. And I don’t do that well…really, no, I
don’t do that well.
She backs
away, I move in. She puts up a wall, I try to tear it down, sometimes angrily,
indignantly.
I know, I
know this is not about me. I know this is necessary. In order to leave, to
grow, to become all that she is meant to be, she must move away.
But darn it if I won’t try to stop it.
Even after
going through this three times already. It hasn’t helped me get better at
letting go. In fact, it’s probably made me worse. I anticipate, readying
myself, putting up my defenses. I think
it’s all her, but I act like it’s all about me.
Even now,
with this day dawning distance, I have a perspective that allows a look back.
I’ve been protective, defensive. I’ve readied myself for the battle, and in
doing so, I’ve aimed the first shot.
I’ve held
on, been ungracious and angry. At times, I’ve been mean, just in case she’ll be
mean to me. And though I know this separating has to happen, I have not let it
happen easily. I’ve used angles and manipulation to try to keep her bound. I’ve
set up traps that snap at her ankles. No, no, no…please don’t go.
I didn’t set
out to do this. I’ve done my work. Sought expert counsel. But this is one of my
issues…letting go or holding on, taking it personally, covering my sadness, my
grief, my fear in anger. Pulling back myself. Distancing myself, first, so you
can’t. This, I do well.
It won’t be long now.
Pomp and
Circumstance, cap and gown, congratulations! A spot of summer…and then that day
in August when we will pack up her things. And yes, it will probably be a day
of panic and hurry and stress, masking the devastating reality and the wondrous
truth, Amelia, my baby, is leaving for college. She is doing exactly what we
planned. She has been everything we could’ve hoped for. She has brought us
unfathomable joy.
Very soon she will leave. It’s time. We
knew this day would come. But are you ever prepared?
As this new
day dawns, this day right in front of me. I am determined to be more gracious,
loving, and kind. To be a better shepherd, not holding back my little lamb, but
guiding her forward, weaning her with joy. Because this is what it’s all been
for, been about. This raising of a child, this loving, this pouring into, this
painful, wonderful, heartwarming, heart-wrenching thing called mothering. She
is self-possessed. Independent. Always mine, but never really mine.
Godspeed
Amelia!
This post first appeared on CirclesOfFaith.org
Thanks for visiting my blog and taking the time to leave an encouraging comment. What a beautiful picture of you and your daughter. I remember well when my daughter left the nest. I'm thankful that after flying off for a season she and her husband, and two sweet little boys have their own nest not far from me. ~ Abby
ReplyDeleteThanks for checking my blog Abby! Oh I do look forward to the future that you are already experiencing.In fact, three of my four girls will be in the same area...and one of them, my stepdaughter is having a baby. Life goes on...Blessings!
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