My wee girlie is off on another adventure and she is taking my heart with her, again. Not all of it of course, because I still have two men at home that I love with just as much passion, pain and purpose. But there is something about a daughter and if you’re a mother of one or more, you know. There is a bond that you cannot replicate with a male. Any male. Maybe it’s just a kindred spirit forged out of carrying that baby for nine months and then teaching her everything you know and then watching her grow into herself with traits she clearly got from you. And being female. Interests you share. Tastes you pass on. You create a life for this little girl that will shape and mold her forever. Creativity birthed into her little soul and nurtured over time into a full blossomed maturity all her own. Of course she manifests character traits that are clearly her fathers and they are best buds. Her father will definitely be moping about the house long after she’s gone as well, but for different reasons.
Wee girlie is spreading her independent, often defiant, wings once again and moving to London on a two year work visa. The London that is in Great Britain. The London across the ocean. The London far, far from home. I know this feeling. She has lived there before. But last time she was part of a group of people that were looking out for her in a small way. This time she is completely on her own. Of course she is ten years older and a full grown, independent woman who makes her own choices and has her own dreams. I hate that. But I guess I can take comfort in the fact that her father and I must have done something right right given the fact that she wants to venture out into this scary world with bravery and vision of what could be. This is a particularly poignant time for her to go. But I have to ask myself, will there be a better time for her to go? Yes. When I’m dead. And I don’t have to experience this tearing of the heart. Why does parenting have to be so painful?
Part of me is terrified that London will become her permanent home. Part of me knows I have to let go and let her put into practice all, the wise, practical, mature parts of her that she has acquired over time and experience. She actually warned me long ago that she would probably marry someone foreign and for me not to count on her living next door. (I mean, what’s what’s so wrong with living next door or in the same city?)
Anyway, I am really so proud of her because when I was her age I was a fraidy cat. Still am, actually. So I just can’t imagine why she would want to do this treacherous thing. But I’m glad she isn’t afraid (or at least doesn’t show it). Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway. Maybe that is her. I don’t want to know.
My prayer for her would be that she finds exciting and fulfilling and creative work. She has already set those wheels in motion. That she would find a safe and comfortable place to live. That she would meet beautiful people that would love her and look out for her. I know this may sound silly but watching Emily in Paris paints a picture for me of how this could be a wonderful, learning experience. And that a 31 year old woman is not a child and can definitely hold her own in a foreign place. My fears come from a place of observing her doing sketchy things in the past in regards to safety and mom’s are all about the safety. We are nothing else if we are not about the safety. Am I right?
But she knows our door is always open and there is always a safe place to land. She can home at any time and we will run to meet her with open arms (and of course a fatted salmon. She doesn’t like beef).
I will just continue to support her and encourage her and pray for her. God can go with her and I cannot. It’s that simple. Thank God (literally) for prayer. It’s a mother’s most powerful tool.
The Red Plaid Apron 