Tomorrow marks a significant milestone for our family. We will greet a remarkable young woman at Chicago O’Hare International Airport. Our 16-year-old daughter has spent the entire summer in France, immersed in the culture and traditions of her extended family in Lyon. I recognize that she will return to us a little older, a little wiser.
As we lingered at the airport, postponing our farewells, she hesitantly presented me with a couple of envelopes. “This isn’t a big deal, just something I wrote,” she said, her voice wavering. One envelope was addressed to her father and me, while the other was for her brother. When her voice broke, my tears started to flow uncontrollably.
Was she truly ready for this adventure?
After a final embrace, I watched her stride confidently toward security, passport and boarding pass in hand, ready to embrace the unknown in a country that had long captured her heart. Born in Germany and having lived in places like Dubai and London, her passport is a vivid representation of her journeys and experiences. As she walked away, she didn’t glance back. In an instant, the crowd enveloped her, and she vanished from sight.
While travel was familiar to her, flying solo was a new frontier. My heart raced with worry. Would she feel isolated? Would panic set in? I wouldn’t be there to comfort her.
I remember when she was just 8 years old, clearly not ready for independence, and neither was I. After an accident on a pogo stick—a gift we had excitedly given her—she was left bloodied and bruised. As I cradled her in the backseat during our frantic drive to the ER, I realized that life can change in an instant, often without warning.
“It’s not fair,” she had sobbed, blood spilling from her mouth, her innocence shattered. I had clutched the half of her tooth that I had found on the pavement, hoping for a miracle from the dentist.
That experience taught both of us harsh lessons about life’s unpredictability. It was a wake-up call that life doesn’t seek permission to deliver its challenges. My daughter’s relationship with pogo sticks ended that day, and she cautiously returned to riding her bike, her spirit momentarily dimmed. I should have celebrated her growing independence, yet as I waved goodbye to her biking toward high school, a lump formed in my throat.
“Be careful!” I called out, grappling with my own feelings of unease.
Am I prepared for this new chapter? The loss of control feels overwhelming, as it undermines the very foundations of motherhood. We employ countless strategies to shield our children from harm—from securing them in car seats to utilizing parental control software online. We strive to protect our children from life’s harsh realities, wishing they could remain shielded from pain for just a little longer.
But life has its own plans. In her freshman year, our daughter faced a tragedy when a classmate she admired took his own life. The weight of that grief was something I wanted to absorb, but instead, I witnessed my daughter grappling with sorrow that was all too real. I longed to be the superhero mom who could shield her from such heartache, yet I realized that was beyond my grasp.
The illusion of control has been dissipating for years, and even now, it occasionally taunts me like a mischievous sprite. I know a self-sufficient young woman is returning tomorrow—though she packed her beloved, worn-out stuffed rabbit, Big Ears, for comfort—a source of predictable solace in an unpredictable world.
This narrative first appeared on the blog BLUNTmoms.
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In summary, navigating the bittersweet journey of letting go as a parent is a continual lesson in trust and acceptance. As my daughter embarks on her adventure, I am reminded of the resilience we all must cultivate in the face of life’s uncertainties.