Time to Fly

I’ve started again, aimlessly walking laps. Due to the heat, my marathon lap training has taken to the indoors. No one notices me as long as there’s an Astros game on and I don’t cross in front of the tv.

There is so much to do. And yet, here I am walking in circles.

Two days until we leave to move her to college.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs yesterday to relish a Mozart aria drifting down from her voice lesson above. The last voice lesson that I will be privy to for who knows how long. From now on, other souls, strangers, will be her audience. And this is the right thing, because these strangers will become her mentors, friends, and closest allies as she follows this yellow brick road of her dreams.

But it’s hard for me to let go and realize that I am no longer that person who has the front row seat, the backstage pass, and the behind-the-scenes access.

As moms, we have devoted YEARS of our lives to THEIR lives…countless hours driving them to practices, rehearsals, lessons, you name it, we’ve done it. And we have been there to reap the rewards for those efforts…celebrating with our kids’ successes and being right there when disappointment has reared its ugly head.

How do we stop being right there?

I know I won’t stop being a mom, that the role will just change. I get that, I do.

But I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to stop being the mom I am right now.

I guess I don’t have to figure it out, it’s just going to happen to me, like the day I gave birth.

And the time has come. She is ready. The nest has been soiled, the stuff has been ordered from Amazon and Dormify, and the clothes have been packed (mostly).

This Band-Aid will be ripped off very soon, like it or not.

In the meantime, I will keep making my laps, imagining her curly little head bouncing around every corner of this house, gripping a Snoopy stuffed animal, begging to go to the park. Holding out her hand, reaching out for me, “Come on, Mommy, let’s go!”

My mind is stuck on “Come on, Mommy, let’s go!” because I think it can’t bear to imagine the goodbye that is coming.