I read an article about letting go of your college-aged child. There. I said it.
The article was biblical and cheesy, and in no way, shape, or form, made me feel better about having less than 9 months with Cheyenne before she moves off to God knows where.
This year continues to be a suckish hell if I’ve ever had one. First I lose my sweet baby, then my trusty dog, and now my oldest daughter can’t seem to get out of the house fast enough. Sure, I could look at it that way.
But I have to remind myself that this is normal. This is encouraged. This is what we’ve been trying to prepare her for for her whole life. I should be proud that Cheyenne is a mature, confident young lady who can make intelligent choices and who will, I’m sure, cure cancer at some point. I should be happy that she is bold and brave. I should be thanking my lucky stars that she’s not lazy or unmotivated or timid or scared. I will not take it as a personal offense that she wants to move far away to go to college. I will not see it as an attack on everything that I am or that I’ve done when she says things like “I can’t be a stay-at-home mom in a podunk Oklahoma town for my whole life.”
What I would really like for her to know? Is that it’s okay. Wherever she goes, whatever she studies. I’m so proud of her. I really am. And I have faith in her. And I’m not scared for her, I’m scared for me. Cheyenne’s been my one constant ever since I was 15. We’ve been through so much together–some of it she remembers, some of it she doesn’t. What am I going to do without my angel? My buddy?
And we saw how it went around here when she left for the summer–what will happen when she leaves…for life? Who will find my car keys and my glasses? Who will remind me to shut the sprinkler off, and who will tell me when the noodles are boiling over on the stove? I give myself 6 months max after she leaves before I accidentally burn the house down.
Yesterday I took a major step in the letting go process: I bought her a toaster. I took a big gulp of air and I mentally braced myself and I purchased the most beautiful blue toaster, people; for my daughter–who will soon be living not here, and toasting her own bread. There is just no bible verse that can help me prepare for that reality.
And p.s. If she’s honoring God, then I don’t care if she’s a part-time fast food worker married to a roller-skate mechanic with 8 kids living in Timbuktu.