Lolly,
I cried myself awake this morning. I know that reads dramatically, but it's the simple truth. I was asleep, and I woke up crying. I don't understand where the time as gone. I have rooted myself in every moment, prevented myself from that perspective of I can't wait for you to grow up. I have purposefully treasured every single day with you, knowing that one day I would long for them. This morning I woke up in a panic thinking about you going away to college. It's the flip side to the coin of growing up, that as a young adult I had zero concept of (to be fair, perhaps it was not something my mother ached about). The idea of you being states away, or even houses away, hurts.like.hell.
I sat there in the kitchen while you cried about the fear of it. I sat there, reassured you, reminded you of your capabilities, and I remembered how scary and difficult it was to unlatch myself from my own family and move away to school. I told you that you are brave, strong, and full of might. I told you it's okay to be scared, but that your moments will be filled with adventure, and you will make new memories. All of these things are true. You are so brave, so intelligent, so courageous. You will make yourself do what you must. I admire you.
I have treasured every single moment of being your Mommy. I loved the very early days, when you refused to sleep if it wasn't right next to me or your Daddy. I loved the nights of getting up to feed you, change you, and put you back to sleep. I loved watching you discover light, water, and books. I loved reading the same stories to you over and over again, changing them every so often just to give myself something new. I loved that despite you having every single word of those books memorized, you never minded when I did that (though you protested loudly if your Dad did. HAHA). I loved being there when you walked, laughed, talked, fed yourself, learned to use the toilet, lost your first tooth, felt your first heartbreak, made your first friend, first auditions, first challenges, firsts...
I know that in your immense sensibility, there is a strong possibility that you will go the community college route before transferring into a four-year program. I love how deeply you think about the future. I appreciate that you don't get annoyed every time I remind you to keep an open mind, and that God will provide what you need for the place He wants you to go.
All of this, does not erase the very real emotional agony of me having to push you, encourage you, and help you to leave. The simple truth is, I don't want you to. I want you to stay here so that I can selfishly share life with you. I want to hear about all of your experiences and moments. I want to see you every single day, so that we can talk about politics and religion and current events. I want to be a part of the moments of your life: friends, romance, etc. I selfishly want to go to sleep at night knowing you're in the room next door, not worrying about whether or not some monster has assaulted you or hurt you. I don't want to walk through this first for myself: having a child move out.
There are no books or manuals or anythings that I have ever read that assist a mother in navigating this chapter. When you were placed in my soul, no one taught me how to find peace and comfort with the next chapter. No one prepares you for this moment, they just tell you that it will come and you'll miss what was. This is new territory for me. I will do my best to be strong for you. I will work hard to be encouraging. Forgive me for the mistakes I will inevitably make as this transition heads our way. Be merciful. Thank you for being such a fantastic human being so that this is such a challenge.
I love you with all of my breath, and every one of my heart beats.
