Letting Go

Where has the time gone?  Just yesterday, I was busy raising my daughter and trying to help her find her way in life.  Today, however, the time has come that I am busy helping my daughter get through helping HER daughter take that next step.

My grandchild, Robin (now known as Adrian) will move into her college accommodations today.  She spent her freshman year at home, online, due to the pandemic.  This year, she's going to be in person on campus.  Her mom and stepdad took her on a week-long vacation trip to Oregon in their RV, then home for a couple of days before departing for WWU in Bellingham, WA.  They got there yesterday.  Today is move-in day.  

Adrian will be staying in an off-campus apartment complex.  She will share accommodations with three other students.  When she was here just a couple of weeks ago, she was on a quest to get things she thought she would need, so I was able to play a tiny part in getting her ready for her new adventure.  That's all I've ever wanted...to be a part.  I feel good about that.

My daughter, Adrian's mother, has been quite emotional about the whole process of letting go of her daughter.  Her latest message to me was, "I hope I can get through today."  I assured her that she could, which is probably not what she wanted to hear, but it is the truth.  We do what we have to do for our children and family.  Period.  And we adapt and move on.  It isn't always pretty.

I came from (at least) two generations of strong women who instilled in me that you pick up, dust off, and do what needs to be done in the moment.  Falling apart is never an option.  When my mother died unexpectedly in 1986, the funeral director met me in the parking lot just before Mom's funeral.  I recall putting my head on his shoulder, saying, "I don't think I can do this."  His response?  "Yes, you can."  It was such a Mom thing to say!  It took all I had to do it, but I  "bucked up" and got through.  I remember nothing about the funeral, but I got through it without embarrassing myself. 

Then, too, many years later (1990 or so), I was embroiled in determining what to do about my marriage in the midst of my then-husband's infidelity.  Every single day was a challenge.  I had a child to finish raising and a challenging teaching job.  One of my best teacher friends told me, "Peg, don't fold up.  You'll just have to unfold again."   Again, a Mom thing to say.  She was right, of course, and I didn't fold up, even though there were many, many times when I wished I could.  I knew that "folding up" wouldn't change a thing, so I did what I had to do.

Today will be hard on my daughter.  She has already been weepy about giving her eldest to the world in the midst of a pandemic that isn't over yet.  I am, too, but I have no voice or choice.  All I can do is prop up my daughter as she gives up HER daughter to the world.  All I can give her is words.

She doesn't know about the days I cried when she and the family moved to Muncie so many years ago, out of my immediate clutches.  I wept for days before I figured out that I would just have to drive a little farther to see them.  

She doesn't know about the days that I cried when my daughter and the children left the children's father and moved in with me for two years or so.  I had no warning.  I loved it but felt bad for the children who loved their father.

She doesn't know about the two years of tears and depression I went through when she gave custody of my grandchildren to their father so she could follow her boyfriend to California for a career with Microsoft.  The feelings of hurt, betrayal, helplessness all came crashing down.  It improved over time, but not without major trauma to the kids.  

She doesn't know about all of the tears I shed in the years of raising her alone, praying that I was doing the right thing, hoping she'd turn out well because I had no one else to blame if she didn't.

And now...NOW...my daughter is feeling the same pinch that I did in all of those years:  letting go, but not wanting to.  She and Adrian are sooo much alike, it's pathetic, but they love each other in ways that aren't always obvious.  But I know my kid...and I know my grandkid.  God willing, all will be okay.  My task for today is to reassure my daughter that her first-born will be okay.  She will be missed, but she's not gone.  We will weep together for a bit, but love will win.  Nothing is lost, but letting go is hard!

We are all treading on new ground today.  May God have mercy on all of us!