I remember leaving her with my mother for the first time – to go out with her father for an hour. Alone. She was about a month old and we were new parents, sleep-deprived, culture-shocked, and in need of a breath. She was fine – fed and safe in her granny’s arms. But still…
I remember leaving her at her home daycare the first time. So small, my baby girl. I was going back to work – only three short days a week and she slept most of that time really. I knew she would be fine. Being with other people is good. Having a mother who is using her education and professional skills is good. People leave their children in the care of others every day successfully. But still…
I remember her first day of JK. Getting on that big bus with those little legs as I waved and rushed to my car to get to the school to meet her there and take her to her classroom. She joined her peers with confidence, excited to explore this new world of hers. I knew she was fine – kids go to school every day. But still…
I remember middle school. She would take the city bus, requiring a transfer on the edge of downtown. We prepared, did dry runs, highlighted her route on a sheet to carry with her, made sure she had change for a phone call, rehearsed street smarts. Oh the angst – for me. She walked off toward that bus stop with absolute confidence and headed out into her now much bigger world. I was pretty sure it would be fine – people take buses every day. But still…
Then there was high school. She would bus right into downtown and was given a come to Jesus talk about EVER setting foot inside the Rideau Centre. Oh, how I questioned this plan but there were good reasons for this school choice. And she was a capable and responsible kid. But even I didn’t want to navigate downtown. I hoped she would be fine – people had gone to school there for over a hundred years. But still…
So then came the mission trip to Mexico when she was fourteen. Now we were just talking crazy. But it was well planned and she was so determined. This was a call for her to go. Except for worry about disaster befalling her, I couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse. So we watched her walk through that security gate, all confidence, without even a glance back. And we prayed she would be fine. I mean people travel every day. But still…
She grew. And matured. And continued to move into her life with friends and jobs and interests – ever moving with more independence and autonomy. So when she was accepted at the Bader International Study Centre and really, really wanted to go – TO THE UK FOR ONE WHOLE YEAR WHEN SHE WAS SEVENTEEN – we took very deep breaths. We put on our big people panties and sent her across the ocean. BY HERSELF. KNOWING NOBODY. But she was her own self. And people go to school away from home every day…right? But still…
So yesterday, when I took her back to K-Town for her second year in her student ghetto house – I watched her slide back into her life. Her home. Her mates. Her job. I watched her walking down the street away from me, into the life she has built for herself there, and I was filled with pride. My how I love the woman she has become. How I admire and respect her – her courage, her humour, her sense of self, her confidence. Her independence. I was filled with a sense of gratification that we gave her wings so she could fly. I mean, people grow up every day. But still…
I hold all these moments of letting go inside me and realize that the real courage in parenting is living through all the moments of “but still”. Of releasing your children into their lives gradually but continually – with courage and with wisdom. And when the job has been done well you are left with their whole history in your heart and an empty bedroom in your house. And it is wonderful. But still…
M
Such a lovely post, Mary. Thank you for sharing.
Oh, Thanks Annie. I just needed to get some of these feelings on to the page…
Just beautiful…
Thanks
Just beautiful memories from a super mom who made it possible for her to turn into the person she has become
A MOM will alway shed tears when their child has to leave the “NEST”
LOL. We are back in the same nest Mom.
LOL
Beautifully written, Mary. And so true…. : )
Thanks Pam. I’m glad it seemed to ring true for you.
Beautiful Mary. I hope that I’m up to all the ‘but still’ moments.
Oh, you will be. You’re a great mom Kat.
This is so beautiful. I will share with all my friends, after just taking my 3rd of 4 children (1st daughter) off to college 8 hours away by car. So bittersweet…I can identify with every word you have written. Thank you for giving words to my thoughts and emotions!
Oh my. You are so welcome. THat must have certainly been filled with “but still” for you! I hope she does so well and that you are rewarded for your brave letting go.
Aww… Mary, that’s beautiful!! Have tears remembering those times with DS! THANKS for that! xo
Oh, you’re welcome…I think. I am sure you know well the depth of emotion that comes with letting go.
So lovely, and so well said. This is the bittersweet feeling that parents feel every day. My babies!
Thanks Lynn. It is a bittersweet thing for certain. They are always our babies, no matter how big their bodies try to fool us, lol.
So lovely. It reminds me that letting go of the apron strings…one tug at a time…builds into a different kind of parenting joy.
Thank you. And exactly. Those apron strings are hard to release but well worth it to see the amazing human beings our children can be in their own right.
Thank you so much for this! My oldest baby is about to start Kindergarten tomorrow, and I’m struggling with it. I totally appreciate your perspective. My little man is so confident and enthusiastic about school (he was in montessori for two years prior to this) and I am just now getting to a place where I can be inwardly excited about this for him when before I was only outwardly thrilled for him. But still… <3
You are so welcome and thanks so much for reading. Congratulations to you that you are moving along in being able to see this from his perspective and allowing that to bring you real happiness even as the loss of him a little more brings you sadness for yourself. How wonderful that you are raising a confident little person who is enthusiastic about his world and his place in it. And yes, but still…
But still. That’s all I heard. I’m two years behind you. I feel the push pull. Go stay. Leave me Come back. Grow up stay my baby. This mothering stuff is hard.
It really is hard. As my children have learned well, one of my favourite words to describe so many of life’s changes is “bittersweet”. Motherhood exemplifies it.
Beautiful writing Mary, and a stunning picture of motherhood.
Thanks so much Daniela!