The Letting Go Part

Letting Go. Let it go. Let go. I have heard it a thousand times. It's not easy. I know that. But past grievances - yes. I'm willing to let them go. Forgive and forget. Sure. Sign me up. It's a Disney mantra. My first graders know it better than I do. Let it go. Let. It. Go. Now Marie Kondo has made an empire out of it - complete with a television series. That includes psychological counseling! Everyone on the show cries. Let it go. I've tried it and failed. I've tried it and succeeded. I let go of a million things in our house. Clothes first. Books. Paper. Kitchen. I haven't gotten to the last one. Still. I've done my share. I've moved on from past hurts and past pain and past friendships and past pasts. But that was the easy part. The letting go part of motherhood is not so easy. I do not know if I can let go of my kids.

My son went off to college two years ago. I handled it. A mother in the parking lot who was directing us where to go told me everything would be alright and I believed her.  I was okay for a while. I cried only halfway home that day. The hardest part now is hearing hurt in his voice and not being there to console him in some physical way. But sons always leave home. They are always going to find love somewhere else, in a job, in a girl. I was prepared for that in some small way that allowed me to let him go, or at least I've started the letting go. He still has a bed here and this is still his home. He's still my little boy.

This time around it's my daughter. I'm sorry but it's not the same. It's not that she is the favorite or anything like that. She is my daughter. I knew her somehow before she was born. I know she is only 18, but I feel like I have known her longer. First there was the pregnancy - a knowing. Then long before that, the waiting. The wanting. The internal desire for a daughter. I drew a picture of her when I was in high school, just a profile I doodled in some notebook, but it was her. I thought about her when I was young - someday I will have a daughter. Someday I will be a mother. And then she was. She was here. She was mine. And now I think I still have a knowing - a knowing of what she will face in the world. Her amazing spirit that others may try to tamp down. Her tender heart that others may break. Her beauty that others may try to seize. I don't worry the same way about the boys.
I look at my children today and I still wonder how this came to be. How did these four amazing people come to live in our house? Did I do this? Did we do this? Did we have some small part in shaping them? I don't think so. It was more like we had our foot on the potter's wheel, we weren't the potter. We were just some small influence in some small way. Not too fast, not too slow. This is a smooth part, you can push a little harder here, go a little faster. They will be alright. And here they are. Four young and almost-young adults.

So now the time has come for letting one more go. Just let them go everyone says. But again, I see the fragility of their young hearts and minds and spirits. I'm taking deep breaths. Letting go of a daughter is harder than I imagined. I remember years ago when a neighbor told me that when it was time for them to go, it was time for them to go. You felt it. And it's true. There is that moment when they push you over the line and you think for a moment that you are ready for them to go. But I'm not really there yet. I also know that I am subconsciously getting ready and probably doing a little of my own pushing, when I don't need to. But still. It doesn't make it easy.

When I look back on all the pictures and memories of our life, I am amazed at all those small moments that have lead to this one. All the times that we did let go. Holding their hands while they learned to walk. And then we let go! Holding their bike seat while they learned to ride. And then we let go! Holding their hand when they went off to school. And then we let go. Now the only thing I can hold is their heart in my heart. And let the rest go.

When Annie was about 14 months old, I was very pregnant. I could not physically carry her up the steps. She would cry and say, "Carry you me! Carry you me!" But I couldn't - I could only "carry her hand" and I would hold onto her hand and carry her hand up the steps and this seemed to be a sufficient substitute. I feel like now she is still crying out, saying "carry you me" but she knows I can't. I can only carry her heart. I am not sure it will suffice.