It Happened in a Blink

First published May 2018

I remember the day clearly. I was getting my five-year-old ready for her first day of kindergarten. Her blonde hair cut short in a bob and dressed in a stretchy, striped skirt and pink top, tights, patent leathers with straps, and—her signature style—several necklaces, Emily was ready for school.

My heart was full of excitement for her. Yet etched quite close was the bittersweet knowing that this was the first big door she would enter: school. And these steps would move her farther from her father and me, from hearth and home to (ultimately) her own independence. I got choked up, turned to my husband, and said, “It happened so fast. I can’t believe she’s going to kindergarten. She will be grown up and gone before we know it.”

To which my sweet husband, squeezing my hand tight to reassure me, calmly replied, “Dear, she is only five; this is just the beginning. We have lots of time.” Though I think deep down, he understood that our little boo was really growing up. She gave us each long hugs before she turned to meet a sea of new faces, seemingly curious and unafraid.

Fast forward to this morning. She sports black jean shorts and her Seniors shirt, her long, blonde hair straightened for the occasion, and a bit of makeup on her summer sun–glistened face. My sweet, intelligent, beautiful seventeen-year-old daughter had gotten herself ready for school. Backpack in tow, lunch (still happily made by me), and iPhone in hand to record the events of the day. Emily yelled goodbye to her dad and allowed me to give her a hug for good luck. Then, we were off to her “last” first day of high school. The thirteenth year in a row that I have driven her to her first day. Each time, a rite of passage on its own merit, but this year it is tinged with something more.

The knowing that we have almost gotten her to the road that ends after high school.. In our small town, it’s the road that safely takes her from our house where she loves to regroup from long days at school or nights out with friends when she must put herself out there. Home has become a haven for her, and for that, I am grateful.

Next year’s proverbial drive to school will take her down a new road. Uncharted territory to the college of her dreams (hopefully). We will drop her off, say goodbye, and not see her for several months. We won’t have to pick her up after school or make her dinner. We won’t get to hear about her day or know exactly where she is or what she is doing at pretty much any point in time. The house will become quieter. No more stories of high school drama, Instagram slights, or loud music while she washes the dishes. No more hours to days of little conversation as she nests in her room focused solely on her teenage world, eventually followed by the pleasant surprise of her breaking her silence for deep discussions about specific events in her life, reminding us that she still needs us.

What I will miss most, though, is her presence. Her energy and adventures bring life to the house. I will miss her company. She is a beautiful, creative, thoughtful girl. I am not ready to let her go, even though it often feels like she is a renter in our home. More often than not, she is out with friends but usually present for family dinner—some nights engaged and talkative, others out of sheer obligation.

This is also the first time in a long time that I have begun to mark the passage of time in tiny increments, like when she was a baby . . . first smile, first time she slept through the night, first word, first time she rolled over on her own, first Halloween, first Christmas, first playdate, first time we left her alone, and on and on. With each passing year, the acknowledgment of these firsts became few and far between until they are now lasts: last time I will drive her to the first day of school, last school photo, last action movie with Dad, last family adventure to Apple Holler, last homecoming dance, last spur-of-the-moment trip to the mall. Marking these lasts feels more bittersweet than marking the firsts.

It is her time to shine. My husband and I want her to feel completely free to do so. She has a solid foundation, a good sense of herself, and healthy boundaries. She is curious and ready to explore beyond the nest of our home, our town, and even the state in which we live. We applaud her for that knowledge and courage.

This point in life seemed to happen in a blink. Hopefully, the next eighteen years will move more slowly as I shift into my new role of observer and advisor rather than being in the trenches with her caring for her most basic needs.

While I know it sounds cliché, time really does go by too fast, but now I often see it more in my life than hers. I see the short side of the stick for my husband and me. She has many more milestones to reach: college graduation, a serious boyfriend, travel, engagement, marriage, babies, and all the other unpredictable life events that will challenge her—at times bringing her great joy and at others, deep sorrow. She will learn to navigate and live within life’s hills and valleys, traversing independently and then with her own nuclear family. Hopefully, she will reach out to us via text, phone call, or visit and allow us in during this time, if only just to enjoy this part of life with her and, of course, provide her with guidance when requested.

She will always be my baby, no matter how old. When she is fifty and I am in my eighties, she will still be my child, my heart, my most precious gift.