A Young Woman Leaves Home

Seattle, where a piece of my heart will live

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Today, my daughter moved hundreds of miles away from home to Seattle. She graduated college with honors after attending on a full ride scholarship. She has gone from being a quiet private high schooler to a strong, wickedly witty young woman with friends surrounding her as she herds them to outdoor challenges. She radiates confidence and energy. She is fully prepared for the big world away from her small town roots.

But, still. I am at once sad to my bones at her leaving, happy for what life will gift her with, and pleased that she feels free to go. But, still. She is my baby, the last of the brood. She will be no longer within quick reach to rescue or simply to touch. She will be hours away. I will no longer have the expectation of the step at the door being hers. I will no longer see her burst through the back door, Pug and laundry basket balanced precariously, saying breathlessly, 'Hi, Mom! I got some time so we came down!'

I clearly remember my mother's sadness when I left home at seventeen. I, too, felt the heaviness of the moment, not without a little fear. And, I felt sorry for my mother. She seemed so old, so vulnerable, so unhealthy. And, she was. Not really old, but worn out by poverty and hard work and disappointment. But she was vulnerable and unhealthy, and I felt like I was abandoning and betraying her. I cried all the way to my new apartment near the university I was to attend.

I have broken the cycle of poverty and abuse in yet another way with my own daughter's leave-taking. She knows I am whole, and healthy, and busy, and involved in my own life. She need not fear for me, or feel like a traitor to me in order to seek her own dreams. And, that is another gift I can offer my children. I have given them roots, and now I offer wings.

Fly high, my sweet child. I'll be here, always.