Fly Away Home

My daughter Megan headed back to NYU on Sunday morning. I spent the entire day in my flannel pajamas and moped for as long as I could stand it, knowing it never really does me any good. I watched a depressing movie (thinking it would be cathartic) only to realize it made my heavy-heartedness, well...heavier. I then stripped her bed with the same bravery I exact when ripping a band aid off of a wound that has not yet healed, but I must clean and inspect for improvement. Clutching her well-worn, white sheets to my chest, I took in a deep breath of her and with great reluctance let her out again. Am I any better at this after seven months of saying goodbye for long periods of time and then hello again for what seems like ten minutes? No, not really... I am just faking it for now. I tell myself that she is at nineteen a young woman of the universe. She was never really mine. I had temporary responsibility to care for her until she was old enough to leave home; boy did she. New York may as well be China on most days- she is so far from my reach. I don't know how mother birds do it? They are so brave; so trusting. We humans are tempted to clip our children's wings with our own fears, insecurities, and opinions. In doing so we hinder their ability to grow from dependency to freedom. This is selfish on our part. I must practice letting go of my daughter on a daily basis, grateful she is fiercely independent; a remarkably capable girl who I raised to FLY. I mustn't encumber her with responsibility for my well-being and the emptiness that now occupies my maternal heart. The big question is still, "What do I do now?"

I am proud that we weren't helicopter parents so typical of our generation. We began practicing a more passive kind of parenting Megan's last two years at home, allowing her some earned freedoms, and a bit of adult autonomy during her senior year. Megan never disappointed us. This only solidified in our hearts and minds she was indeed ready to leave. I was the one who wasn't ready. I prepped her with self defense classes, later curfews, and championed her prayerful consideration of colleges and ultimate choice of attending NYU. Unfortunately, I didn't think about my personal readiness while embarking upon this intensely emotional and constantly evolving maternal process. Sure, I did some preparatory grieving during her senior year mourning all the lasts. However, I was unprepared in anticipating the real sense of loss I would feel without the intense, daily engagement I once had with my girl. My life changed dramatically in just a year. I think I miss most the quintessential mother/daughter things: manicures and pedicures, breakfasts and lunches at our favorite little cafes, our conversations about everything and nothing, sitting on her bed watching her get ready for dates, (while interjecting the need for her to apply a little lip gloss or voting for a favorite accessory) watching her rehearse at the ballet studio, and snuggling with her on the couch watching a girl movie. Weaning myself from these types of interactions never occurred to me. If it did, I am not at all sure I would have been willing to have sacrificed even one of them for my ultimate well being in the end anyway.

Even the loss of the most elemental experiences are still difficult for me: church on Sunday, cooking dinner, shopping, driving on the Pacific Coast Highway, watching Glee and Project Runway, Pilate's class- because none of it is the same without her. To be truthful, some of it I have had to just avoid for now. I instead began replacing these things with different kinds of activities to help with the adjustment. I wish I could tell you it's easy and working fine for me. The truth is I'm still trying to find my equilibrium. I know I must look to my own happiness and not look back too much. It's hard. A lot of what I have tried feels like empty filler, but I continue to persevere managing life's changing chapters in my own life, while celebrating hers. I am so happy to hear she got an A on the paper, the interview went well, her roommate cleaned their room, and she wants to stay in New York during the summer and get an internship (What...? My mother's heart screams). Realizing she won't want to keep calling and talking to a weepy mess who hasn't got a life outside of hers is motivation enough to go get myself a life and appear happy while trying. I never want her to feel responsible for my happiness and I hope she'll return the favor. I have lived that kind of love; it's an impostor. I owe it to myself and to Megan to thrive. I had a mother who didn't and I know from experience it's burdensome.

I am looking at the box of worn pointe shoes Megan sorted through while she was home on spring break; the bags of her clothing and cast away items I must take to Good Will this week. As we prepare to down-size to a smaller place, we asked her to go through closets, drawers, shelves, and dance bags to decide what she wanted to keep or not. Seeing the trash bags: carelessly discarded yesterdays tear at me. I WANT TO RIP OPEN the white plastic and hold on to every item because what I really want is to hold on to my little girl. Her room is still intact. Depending on the day it's either heartbreaking or comforting to sit on her bed looking around her teen room. The bold art posters, the eclectic bulletin board with concert stubs, notes from friends, photos, and school memorabilia are all pieces of the girl she once was and the woman she is becoming. As I sift through the throw away pile, I pick up a pair of satiny, blush pink pointe shoes that represent so much: my daughter's pink and white dreams, her passions, dedication, discipline; her gifts. I mentally pat myself on the back, knowing that I am responsible in part for dreams realized because I loved and nurtured the spirit she came with, parenting both the child and the gifts until she was capable of doing it for herself. That day has arrived. I just never expected it to be so bittersweet.

We're given approximately eighteen years to love our children as children, care for their basic and sometimes extravagant needs, raise them in a hopefully happy, supportive environment, encourage their desires, help foster their gifts and talents, and shape their character. I know if we can't let go of our grown children it limits the lives of all concerned. Adult children lose confidence in their own powers when parents exercise too much of their own (power) over their grown children. I've done my job. I can really say that with conviction and pride. Knowing this, I believe in my daughter and in her ability to govern her own life. I am here for support and gentle guidance. My new job: to maintain my personal happiness and enjoy my life, marriage, and new found freedom to come and go as I please, perhaps join my husband on business trip or two, and explore new possibilities for myself. It's not all bad. Just before Megan came home this month, I had a few weeks that I actually began settling in and started enjoying my new life for the first time since we left her in NY. I had a little setback this week and needed to remind myself once again that it took time to settle into parenting and it will take perhaps even more time to adjust to not having to parent a child on a daily basis. As I have spent three days wondering how I can make this better for myself, I realized I need to look forward to my daughter's visits, not live for them. Well intended comments from older parents such as, "Once they leave for college they never really come back" or "You're not letting them go- you're letting them grow" begin to slowly penetrate my consciousness.

 I know I must recover a truer sense of autonomy. I examine ongoing ways I must nurture and accept myself as more than a mother. I will continue to explore avenues to strengthen my spiritual and creative base, and therefore my own power. I am comforted by the assurance from having two older sons that I will never cease being Megan's mother. For now, I just miss my baby bird and hope she always flies west for the winter. Spring and summer would be a nice bonus, but I am realistic. New York in the fall is already on my calendar, but today I commit to living in the moment; to finding and creating my own joy on a daily basis, realizing this empty nest thing is a journey...