Soooo...my 18-year-old daughter moved out last Thursday...The daughter who graduated with high honors and was voted "Best Personality" of her senior class. The first child. The test kid. The experiment in parenting. The first heart to leave the house for longer than just a week away in L.A.
You know - the moment I've waited impatiently for through 18 years of living with the "best personality." The unexpected moment of such overwhelming grief and pride and insecurity that...was just more than a little surprising in it's intensity. I am happy for her adventure. I am thrilled she got in to a good school. I am haunted by the mistakes I made along the way. Sincerely and truly. It was the sobbing, mascara stained, sisters clinging to childhood, that my hand to God, stopped our existing world.
Give her space. Don't call. Don't text.
But, if I don't contact her how will I know...how will she know...how will we go on?
Texts that would like to be sent:
Do you like your roommate?
Did you finish hanging up your pictures?
Have you made anyone laugh?
Are my favorite shoes having a good time in college?
Have you looked at the 52 page photo/quote album I made you and left for you to easily find the moment I returned to your childhood home and left you in the wilds of a college dorm?
Have you read any of Dad's "Phils-osphy" book?
Are you flossing?
What's the bathroom like?
I guess technically they're your shoes, even though I paid for them.
Are you always with another person when you walk on campus at night?
Are you carrying your mace?
You should see your bedroom here. You actually do have carpeting.
I miss you.
Can I come down for lunch on Friday?
Have you thought about coming home this weekend?
They're just such pretty shoes.
Your replacement, Chewiethedog, keeps stealing your Minnie Mouse slippers and your Minion.
Your Dad wants to keep your bedroom door closed.
I won't let him.
I love seeing the carpet...
Did you apply for a job yet?
Are you getting all of your books? Legally?
Do you miss home?
Are you sleeping enough?
How often have you gone to Starbucks?
Your sister misses you terribly.
It is so quiet.
The mayonnaise and ranch dressing are taking up too much space and remain unappreciated in the fridge.
I'm considering moving.
What are your teachers names and do you think you can hang in the university collective of intellectuals?
What are you reading in English? Have you written anything yet?
Please. Stay. Strong.
How many parties have you been to? Any of them Campus Crusade for Christ?
Are you scared?
Are you free and happy?
Excited for your potential to be exposed?
Frightened you don't have any?
You do. BTW.
Please don't lend the pretty shoes to your roommate. I'd like them to visit someday. Soon.
Do you want to stay?
What I actually text after letting an agonizing 24 hours pass:
Get vitamins when you go to Target.
That's it. Well, more followed, in yet another 24 hours that felt like 3 weeks, but the vitamins seemed to be the least....overly-protective.
Now, let go. And let God.
It is so quiet.
(She likes her roommate, all books purchased legally, she looked at the photo album I made her, she had a sandwich today. That's all I know as of now.)
(I'm going to try to not go see her tomorrow.)
(Hoping to hear good news that the pretty shoes are having a wonderful time. Quietly in her closet.)