On Letting Go of Number One: Or Inviting Number One to Spread her Wings and Fly

       I took eldest child across the country this week to begin her first year of college.  Yes, this is a rite of passage in our country.  Yes, we all survive this; we all get through it: we become parents with the understanding that our job is to raise kids strong enough, healthy enough that they can leave us at the appropriate time and step into adulthood, independence, and into a true sense of who they are separate from their parents.  I understand that.  And still, leaving my girl last night was one of the hardest thing I've ever done.

      I don't say that lightly.  Like most people who've lived for half a century, I've had my share of hard times and challenges.  But leaving my daughter to fly home felt like cutting off one of my limbs.
      My eldest daughter taught me, truly, what it is to love another.  I can honestly say that I had no idea until she was born.  There are many people I have used that word "love" with.  And by American definition, I can say that I have "loved" many, many people throughout my life: I still do love many people by American usage of that word.  But as soon as she was born, I understood that real love, deep love, unconditional love - that was something else entirely.  The way I have loved others always involved some kind of give and take.  "I love you, you love me, and together we live in harmony"  or whatever the words are.  But the way I felt when I looked at my daughter for the first time, the way I still feel when I look at her: this is no longer a matter of give and take.  She could hate me, she could reject me, she could return to me nothing and I would still easily give up my life for hers, I would still scale mountains and cross oceans for her well being.  That kind of love - that expects nothing, seeks nothing, wants nothing in return - that is something I really did not understand and had never experienced before.  I am so terribly grateful to her for teaching me love, simply by being born.
       Beyond loving my daughter, I also like my daughter.  I like how thoughtful and intellectual she is.  I love how smart and deep she is.  She has a beautiful voice, beautiful face.  She listens well, she is kind and affectionate with me. She cares about other people and the world we live in.  She challenges me with her ideas and dreams.  She is a good friend, a strong young woman.
       Combine my love for her, my respect for her, my liking of her, and my desire for her to be the best person she can be; along with the realization that she'll be back for Christmas, back for summer, that we can still be friends and family on the phone, on skype, through facetime and email; and the choice to take her to college was an obvious one.
       But despite the fact that she went and visited a number of schools, that this school was clearly her first choice (as well as mine!), and that I think they will offer her the moon, it was hard to leave her.
       First, I am worried about her at many levels.  While she is intellectually an adult (and frankly, always has been!  We have a repeating joke in our family about Jasmyn being thirty that we've said on a regular basis since she was five), emotionally she is very young.  I worry about how she will make friends at school - that is not one of her strengths. I was a late bloomer in terms of emotional maturity and she has inherited that.  She is also extremely introverted: much more so than I ever have been.  So I worry about her being lonely, being alone, being isolated. I worry she won't be liked.  I've been her closest friend as well as her mother, for many years.  I worry she won't make new friends. Also, she, like my other two, has ADD - so she misses things like when to turn in assignments, when things are due, when to schedule shuttle transportation to the airport.  I worry about this, too.  I worry about her not being on top of things she needs to do, things she needs to have. She has done on-line schooling for the last three years, which has given her a great deal of free time each day.  I worry that the pace and demands of college will be too much for her.  She values her free time, and like many of us, would rather play than work.  I have concerns about her finding the right balance to be happy as well as successful in school.  I leave her there with worries and concerns.
      Second, I will miss her.  Since she did on-line schooling for the last three years, I have spent a great deal of time with her.  She often has slept in my room at night - wanting space from her sister (with whom she shares a room), but also wanting to just have those night time long mama-daughter conversations that the darkness somehow allows for in a different way than the day time does.  We are very, very close: having survived tragedies together, having walked difficult moves and changes together.  And this is one more loss for both of us of a precious time of togetherness.
      But finally, as I was getting ready to take my leave, she begged me to bring her back home.  She was crying (I was crying), and she told me she just wanted to go home.  I pointed out that all her stuff was unpacked and I didn't have a plane ticket for her.  She said we could easily pack up her stuff and buy her a ticket. I pointed out that we paid a great deal of money for this experience for her.  She just said, "I know and I still just want to go home."
      And I said "no."
      I said "no" to my crying, begging, young adult daughter.  I chose for her what I believed to be best for her, not what she wanted.  There will not be too many more times that I will be the one making those big choices for her, but this was a choice that I made, despite what she said, what she asked for, what she wanted.
     And that doesn't feel good.
     I believe this school will offer her an excellent education, will open doors for her that will carry her forward for the rest of her life.  I believe they will take care of her, and will work for her success not only academically but socially, emotionally, spiritually and physically.  But while this was similar to taking her to kindergarten that first day 13 years ago, this time I will not see her for four months.  I can't afford to fly her back for Thanksgiving and, considering that this would be two full days of flying for only two days of "together", it doesn't make a lot of sense either.  So it will be Christmas when I see her again.  And that feels like a really long time to enforce the "I'm doing this for your own good" with my young adult daughter.  And if it doesn't work out?  If she gets injured or has a break down or, or, or... then I will hate myself for making the choice I believe to be best for her now.
        I know we will both survive this.  But as I said, this was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.
       The point?  Perhaps there isn't one.  Love is hard.  Real love, the kind that wants and works towards nothing but the highest good for the other, that is challenging.  I believe in the call to love in this way, and I chose what I believed to be for her highest good.  But my self-doubts in the face of her desires, as well as my own, made this one of the most challenging choices for real love that I've made. God be with her.  God be with all of us, as we walk this transition forward, along with the countless others walking this same path this fall.