Fear. It’s the
first emotion I had after they placed my daughter in my arms 17 years ago. Not elation or happiness, just naked
terror. I was now a mother and I didn’t
know the first thing about it.
I’m thinking this as I watch Emma walk across the stage at
her high school graduation. It’s
one of many thoughts and emotions that slide in and out of my head on a day I
thought was still a long way off.
When I talk to other moms about how awful I felt during
those first few months of Emma’s life, I get odd looks and tight lips. The judgment is there, silent but so
loud. The enormity of being
responsible for another human being was incredibly terrifying to me. Which was ironic because I am the
youngest of seven kids and grew up looking after eight nieces and nephews at
one time or another. Being a mom
should have come naturally. But it
took time and a battle with post partum depression to figure everything out. I remember holding her in my arms and
looking out the window as the sun set and wondering how I was going to do this
for the next eighteen years.
But time has a way of moving faster than I so desperately
wanted it to back then.
Suddenly, it seems, I open my eyes and she is grown up and
moving out in a few weeks, off to university to forge her own path. I am so proud of the person she has
become. She is intelligent and kind,
quick to see the best in everyone and every situation. Her quirky personality sets her apart
from the crowd and it is something of which I really love.
She is ready and eager to get on with this next part of her
life. I, on the other hand, am
not.
I have been the boss for almost 18 years, and it’s a title I
am struggling to relinquish. Old
habits die hard I guess. This has
been cause for more than a few arguments over the past year. We have been butting heads a lot. She, trying to pull away. Me, walking that line between knowing
that she still needs some guidance and allowing her to make her own decisions.
It’s exhausting.
In my more morose moments, I envision a life as a hermit, responsible
for only myself, living in a world where my actions affect no one but me.
So I have to admit there is some relief in this stage of
parenting. She will be on her own,
making her own choices. And
although I will always be available if she needs my help, I am finally,
blessedly retiring from my title as boss and moving into that of advisor. At least, that is my hope.
Despite all of these epiphanies, I have not quite come to
terms with this huge shift in my life.
It doesn’t seem real yet. I
don’t think I will truly get it until the day we move her out and into her new
home. Maybe when I return home
that day and look into her empty bedroom reality will strike. Maybe it will gut punch me. But I suspect it will be more of a slow
realization, striking during moments when I set the table for three instead of
four. Or in that extra silence
that her absence will produce.
It’s going to be different for sure.
Until then I’m going to stop dwelling on the past and the
future and enjoy the remaining time I have with her. It’s not the end of the world, just the beginning of
an exciting new journey for both of us.
