my child is leaving home.
as soon as i stopped living with my mom i knew i never wanted to live with her again. thinking about that hurts me now. because this time i’m “mom” so while i catch myself crying about this i am also really aware how important this step is. why she needs to take it, and how much i trust her with her autonomy.
will she drive drunk? Probably. god knows i did.
will she make some of the mistakes we’ve been subtly (and perhaps not so) warning her about for years? Yep.
these things don’t worry me. (too much all the time)
what worries me is that she will be struggling and just like me with my mom – she’ll be too stubborn/proud/determined to tell me about it. that she will try to hide heartbreaks from me. i worry that the years of being confined to a mother/daughter relationship has left little room for us to be friends. i hope not. i hope she’ll save some time in the afternoon to catch a coffee or something at one of those trendy new eateries in town so i can listen to the unfolding story of her life – because that is what i’ll miss the most.
I have had an all access pass to the story of this life. I know exactly how hard she worked just to get earthside – i’m the only one who knows. i have been so lucky to have been there when she sat, stood, walked, talked, drew on the curtains with an Artline marker, cut her hair, when she met her brother, made mud prints on the wall, fell and broke her arm, as she nursed a dying puppy, broke things she’d need in rage, hurt herself. the deeper things i have watched her learn about herself are harder to put into words, but, i suddenly find myself access denied – looking down at the useless pass in my hand and feeling bittersweet. We did it. the best we could with what we had where we were. i love her. i hope she comes back to visit soon.