Letting Go...Again

 Disclaimer:  We are having some very horrible days as we make this medication change, so this blog is somewhat of a cheat. I have been reading posts and looking at pictures on Facebook as many of my friends document dropping their first time freshman off at college...many of them are my former students and so I thought I would pull these musings out of the archives. It is something that I wrote five years ago as I sent my daughter off to her sophomore year at college.  It really isn't specifically about Scotty, but in reality everything that happens in our family happens to him too...so technically it is about him and the changes he is forced to make...changes that shift his sense of balance and security.

Faith, the dictionary tells us, is a firm belief in something for which we have no proof.  Today as my daughter left for her sophomore year at the university, I firmly believed that this second departure away from her home and family would be an easy one.  As I anticipated this moment, I believed absolutely that this particular farewell would be effortless.

 In the weeks of preparation leading up to today, I was absolutely certain that her departure this time would not bring about the month long Cry Fest I participated in last year.  Only now I see that I was terribly wrong.  At this moment I am sixty-eight minutes into this year’s Fest and see no sign of a reprieve.

Last year, the hours leading up to leaving my freshman at the university were the most difficult I had ever spent. I swallowed millions of tears that weekend a year ago.  After the final hug I literally, and without exaggeration, cried hard for six hours straight, soon to be followed by weeks of spontaneous tears that surprised me with their frequency and duration. At times, I found myself sobbing with an emptiness and sadness as strong as I have ever felt.  At other moments, silent tears were shed without ceasing.  No amount of eye drops or ice packs could take away the pain and swelling in my eyes.  No amount of consoling could take away the pain and swelling of my heart.

In my defense, I am a crier from way back.  In fact, I spent a good portion of my daughter’s senior year shedding tears over the millions of last times we went through.  The last time we shopped for school supplies. The last time it was her first day of school. The last show she performed in, and a million other last times.

All sensible thought reminds me that my husband and I have raised a wonderful, independent and intelligent young woman who is off in search of her dreams.  I am so proud that this young woman made it through twelve years of school and gave us very few sleepless nights. 

Sure, she is loud and argumentative and a slob on a grand scale.  She leaves Diet Coke cans and half full coffee mugs on every available surface and drops her clothes wherever they come off her body, but she does not drink or do drugs and has never had to endure the label of teenage mother.

And I am so very, very proud and so very, very excited for her as she pursues her dream of bright lights, Broadway stages, and standing ovations.

It was now time to celebrate first times.

 When I came home from The University of Texas last August I wrote a “Top Ten List” of the worst moments about dropping my daughter off at college.  I now find I am living those moments again, and am astounded that the intensity of emotion has not diminished.  Watching her hug her daddy, sister and brother good-bye that first time is a picture that will be a forever photograph in my mind.  Listening to her cry for forty-five minutes after we left the house -- the deep, hard I can’t breathe kind of cry -- is a sound that haunted me for weeks. 

So many moments from that weekend a year ago, still hit me as strongly today as they did then.  I remember watching her set up her dorm room and having a flashback of her playing house in the family room in her Little Mermaid pajamas, eating a peanut butter sandwich, and watching Sesame Street. 

 I watched her sleep that last night in the hotel room before I returned home alone, to depserately wanted to turn back the clock 15 years.  I wanted to watch her grow up all over again.  I was afraid I might have missed something. 

As my 18 year-old daughter slept I prayed that I had remembered to tell her everything she needed to know about life outside the safety and comfort of her home and her family. I could not keep her safe from the world anymore and almost reluctantly I turned her over to God.

The next day, we went to lunch and as we sat there an extremely loud countdown clock was pounding in my head. Thirty more minutes…twenty-nine more minutes…twenty-eight more minutes. I don’t remember what we ate or where for that matter, but I remember knowing I was participating in a life changing moment.  Sadly, and too quickly, the clock ran out and it was time to go.  I remember hugging her on a busy, crowded street surrounded by thousands of others who like her, were eagerly looking forward to their first times.  I remember how she looked and the way her hair smelled but, mostly I remember the overwhelming feeling that nothing would ever be the same.

And I was right.

Pulling into our neighborhood that night, as I had done thousands of times before, felt strange somehow. The familiar streets and houses gave little comfort because this was now a neighborhood with one less little girl.  I realized then that my world was forever changed.  

 I must admit that I have been feeling smug this summer, smug and thankful that I would not have to ride that emotional roller coaster again this year.  I have watched and sympathized with three of my friends as they sent their freshman off to college for the first time and I graciously passed along the advice given to me by a friend.  She told me to remember that I never again will have to say good-bye to her for the first time.  In these words I found so much comfort and as that friend sent her freshman to college this year I had to remind her of her own words.

This year I had it all under control, or so I thought.  I soon realized just how wrong I had been. As Scotty asked repeatedly for one more hug and one more kiss good-bye, I felt the first pangs of sadness grip my heart.  This boy loves her with his whole heart.  There are many things he does not fully comprehend about this world, but his sister leaving him is something he understands.  His already small little world will have one less person to watch over him.  It was then that I realized I was not going to get off so easily.

This morning as I hugged my sweet girl good-bye and watched her and her daddy drive away, I find myself in this place once again. A place I was sure I would not have to revisit. Now I realize my friend was wrong, and I don’t know if I can tell her. Maybe we just need to discover these things for ourselves.

I believe that faith is not something you are born with but, something you acquire over time.  In sending our children into the world to find their way, we need to have faith that God will watch over and protect them, because without faith there would be only fear. 

I also have faith in this young woman full of dreams, and whom I am proud to call my daughter.

In the quiet of this morning, the hole my daughter leaves in my heart is once again huge. Yet, now as I go through this separation process for the second time I have come to this conclusion.   I now believe with great certainty that it isn’t going to matter whether it is the first time or the tenth time... for me at least it will always be the same. I now know that every time she leaves, she will take a part of my heart and carry it with her.  Hopefully, this mother’s love will reside in a special place in my daughter’s heart, and be a feeling of joy, comfort, and warm memories of home long after I have left her.  

Stevi 1995  Holy Trinity

Stevi 2006 University of Texas