Five years ago, my daughter, my only child, married and moved across the country to Seattle.
Today she shared with me that she didn’t miss us as much as she used to since meeting other women in her church group. Missing me wasn’t as all consuming as it used to be for her.
“That’s good,” I said.
So why did her proclamation make me want to cry?
Because she’s now moved another foot away. And it’s supposed to be that way.
Part of me hasn’t yet fully dealt with this empty nest I live in now. Part of me foolishly dreams that soon she’ll live near me and I’ll be an active part of her life again.
Today’s conversation was a gentle reminder from God that I’d done my job well. I’d raised a woman to stand on her own feet and create a life where she lives—apart from me.
He forgot to tell me how hard this really is.
Remember back to that day you dropped your first child off at kindergarten? It was all I could do to rush to my car without weeping.
And her first overnight away? Her first date? And then that wedding day. I thought I was used to her being gone.
My mother once told me I stopped holding her hand when she walked me to school when I was in the fourth grade. She said it hurt her feelings.
Maybe I needed to be independent, I told her.
Maybe I do.
Have you let go of someone lately?