I was the first to kiss my daughter’s forehead, to touch her tiny toes, and my finger was the first thing she held in her wee fist. And for the first two years of her life, she pretty much never let go. She held on to my fingers, my clothes, my hair, my nose and later, when she started to pull herself up, she held on to my pant legs.
It wasn’t until her younger sister came along that my oldest started exploring the world away from me. But she always found her way back to my hand.
I loved her first. And I have loved her every moment since.
My oldest daughter is moving out.
I’ve been struggling with letting go. I’ve helped her pack her bedroom, picked out furniture in storage that she can use, taught her to budget, and I’ve even given her my old favorite chair. But how do I let go? After all of these years of her little hand wrapped around my finger, (metaphorically, of course. Let’s keep some perspective here.) how am I supposed to let her go?
For twenty years I’ve been her mom, her teacher, her guide and her friend. She has been my compass, my peacemaker and the cause of many sleepless nights. She’s been with me almost half my life, and every day of hers. How do I let go?
It wasn’t until this morning that I realized: I don’t have to. I don’t need to let go.
It’s her hand that’s letting go. I’m not going anywhere. My hand will be right here when she needs it, metaphorically and physically. Just like her tiny toddler self always found her way back from exploring, so will she now come home when she needs to. It’s not letting go that I’m doing; it’s watching her live.
Real life woman. Virtual World avatar. Likes top shelf vodka, dominant men, blues, sunsets and playing darts. Dislikes insecurity, rap, small children and clowns. I'm either behind the bar or under it.