An Emptier Nest

I took the NPR up to Wellington yesterday to help her settle into her university dorm.

Somewhere around 10:30pm Nick and I turned off the television and went to bed.

A few minutes later I was soaking his arm with my tears.

My firstborn is the most successful and long-lived interpersonal relationship I have ever been in.

As she grew up, I began to feel that I had successfully cloned myself in order to keep myself company.

Now that company has gone off to start her adult life and I am filled with sorrow.

I had to close the door to her room because its emptiness overwhelms me.

This is the downside to not having a dysfunctional relationship with your child.

If she had been a teenager from hell or had a personality unlike my own then perhaps her leaving would have been a relief. It definitely would have been easier.

Instead, my mind is flooded with hundreds of memories of our time together.

I remember her being born in a shade of blue.

I remember the little clay hand print she made for me at preschool that I had to hide in the closet because she wanted to play with it and I was afraid she would break it.

I remember how much more meaningful my university experience was because I was working hard for her benefit and not just my own.

I remember taking her to Paris at two and having her be in a grump in most of our photos because of missed nap times.

I remember sitting in bed with her on September 11 and watching the twin towers fall over and over again on the television. My one reassurance was that she was right beside me and I could keep her safe.

I remember dropping her off on her first day of kindergarten and watching her little backpack disappear in a crowd of children.

I remember her fascination with the crabs in a tank on Cannery Row in Monterey and I still have the drawing she made of a crab family with smiley faces.

I remember her looking appalled when a pinata was destroyed at a birthday party in Mexico. (She got over this and was able to bash the heck out of them too.)

I remember her gentle manner with each of her brothers.

I remember her telling her best friend that I believed strongly in human rights.

I remember her mere existence getting me through some of my darkest days in the military.

I remember countless lunches where our mutual sense of humor would put us in hysterics.

I remember using Spanish with each other like a secret language so we could complain about things without those around us knowing what we said.

I remember the way that people who didn't normally like children somehow managed to make an exception for her.

I remember the way she would scold me like a parent if I returned from a grad school meeting later than I said I would.

Finally, I remember that she's not gone from my life forever but just moving on to a new stage in her life.

Remembering this will help keep my eyes dry and my mind untroubled.