I realize how much I am going to miss her bounding down the stairs, mid-song. I already miss being able to hold her and soothe her when she is hurt. I am going miss doing things together, even the mundane doctor visits and reminders about having her fold her own clothes. The house is going to be quieter without her here. Even though I know the rest of the people in the house will not miss me yelling up the stairs for her to come down for dinner, I am going to miss seeing her sitting across from me at the table.
I know when the time comes, I am going to have to repeatedly explain to her baby brother why she is not there. We will have to share our time with her over video chat or messenger services, in between classes and her social life. I won’t have to pick up her jacket off the floor, because it will be with her at whatever college she chooses to go to. I won’t be reminding her to put her shoes away, because they will be carrying her from her dorm to her 11 AM art class. I won’t be waking her for school, because school will be hundreds or thousands of miles away. One of the most painful parts of being a parent is, knowing you did your job right, and then having to let go when it is time to let them move on.
Every part of me knows she is ready for this. She is going to be great at being an adult, and she is going to do wonderful things with her life, her art, and her future. She is ready for this, and as the tears roll down my face, as I struggle with this wonderful, proud moment in time—I realize I’m not ready.
Photo: Morgan Slade Photography
Heather Gunn is a freelance writer from the South, living in Upstate New York. She is a career student, Army wife, mother of a teenager and a toddler and reluctant caretaker of three pets.
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