Fitting, this bloom--
Wednesday, we release.
Yesterday, I noticed that overnight a young flower bud had burst into form as an extravagant bloom. A fitting image for today.
It’s a chilly, overcast morning here, and everyone’s asleep except for me, our bunny and one of our cats. I’m sitting in a small chair in our living room, my back to the door of my daughter’s room, my back to the tall stack of boxes, bags and things our daughter’s curated and chosen for a new life as a college freshman in Utah.
Today, we pack the car with her things.
Tomorrow, we drive us all away.
Tuesday, we rest.
Wednesday, we release.
We release this child—as well-equipped as any, into a brand-new world of independence, discovery and opportunity.
We release the tight-knit dailiness of our family trio.
We release the center-court privilege of knowing the shape of our child’s everyday.
We release our primal joy in proximity and touch, of smelling the top of our daughter’s head in the mornings and holding her strongly and warmly before she heads to bed for sleep.
We release the craving to do more, do better! (We’ve been imperfect parents. Our daughter is a good, young human.)
We release this fresh soul, a kind girl who sings like starlight and fires a damn football harder and more accurately than the handful of boys she knows who worshipped the game in their midwestern childhoods, we release her to the arc of her very own story and life’s unfolding.
I don’t really know where all this leaves me. Haven’t cried yet. Suspect I’ll sob soon.
My daughter just burst out of her bedroom, wide-awake and happy. She says she’s heading out the door to get a coffee with a friend. And now our stereo’s blaring with her music.