It’s been raining since last Sunday. Is this what it’s like in Seattle? Is this why I don’t live there, despite it’s inspiring natural beauty? It was a rhetorical question, people–YES, THAT’S WHY I DON’T LIVE THERE.
Last night I received this article called The Letter Your Teenager Can’t Write from a very good friend of mine, who thought I might like it. I did like it, but then I didn’t like it, because it made me rain. I mean, my eyes were raining, I mean I worked myself up into a crying party of one. I think I might have even let out some animal-like sobs. Riley was a little scared at one point.
For a number of reasons, I have not let myself fully embrace the reality that my daughter is going to college in September. If I did, fully embrace it, that is, I might not be able to stop embracing it. Which is to say, I could fall apart, limb by limb. This is my second and last child. I am not just going to miss that little chickadee, I am going to miss everyday parenting. Not the abundance of laundry, or the eleven pairs of shoes in the hallway (you’d think that girl had more than two feet), or the pile of clothes that’s always obliterating the floor of her room. I am going to miss being a mom, the act, the thing I’ve been doing for the past 21 years, every single day. This is weird territory. This is the period between a nice day, and the next day’s weather, which could be sunny, or snowy, or windy, or a torrential downpour, the precursor of a tornado. This is right before everything changes.
I have never been great with transitions. Beginnings can be tricky, and endings are always hard. I am more a fan of the nice, worn-in middle.
Of course, with this ending, there will be a beginning. And at some point, that beginning will morph into a middle. I will try and keep myself steady while I navigate toward that place. But it won’t be easy, is the only thing I know for sure. When you’re giving birth, and you’re in pain, nobody tells you one day, your pain won’t be physical, but mental, when your little tiny baby sets out into the world. Nobody tells you. And it’s a good thing they don’t.