Letting Go

One time when I was about twelve years old, our church hosted a camping trip for the youth. I was so excited about this adventure--anxiously awaiting the day that we would leave. I loved the leaders, loved my friends that were joining in the fun, loved camping itself--an activity I rarely engaged in. And finally, as it always does, time passed and I headed out the door for the weekend. It was everything I thought it would be--filled with laughter and fun and good times.

And then it was over.

Dad and I were riding to grandma's in the pickup, the 100 mile trip that we took each weekend, shortly after the camping expedition. It was silent for awhile--Dad lost in his own mental world while I considered that fabulous camping trip I'd experienced--when I suddenly blurted out, "You know, Dad, you get so excited about something that's going to happen in your future. You plan for it and wait for it and finally it comes...and then it's over. Forever. You can't ever relive that experience again."

Dad laughed and said, "Yep. That's how life goes--you look forward to something, then it's over. And then you do it all over again. And then before you know it, life is over."

That's pretty much how this past weekend went. I've looked forward to my girls and nephew Caleb coming home for fall break since school began in August--anxious to have them back in our home, in their rooms, making plans, talking for hours. And so, after weeks of anticipation, this past Wednesday finally arrived and the three of them barreled in, a flurry of laughter and chatter and energy. We stayed up past midnight that first day as they filled me in on the goings-on of their lives. We talk almost daily but of course it's not the same over the phone. So many details get left out, stories left unsaid. Darian has this "thing" where she refuses to share certain stories until we are face to face as she wants to see my reaction--so I always know that when we are finally face to face, she has a wealth of things to tell me.

And then the rest of the break was filled with all kinds of business: shopping, eating at El Que Pasa with the Williams, fall fest at the Pisgah gym, laughing, cooking crepes and soups and burgers and Huhots, talking 'til past midnight, watching favorite shows...So many good things.

And then last night around 8:30, the three of them piled into the little Toyota pickup, a blaze of suitcases and jackets and talking, "We're leaving late!" "Where's my sweatshirt?" "We need gas!"

Finally they were settled inside as I stood on the sidewalk just outside our front door, watching forlornly. Savana rolled down her window, yelled, "Aren't you coming over here? It's what you always do!" And so I tiptoed through the rocks in my bare feet until I stood beside her. And as they drove away, she held out her hand. "Here, Mom. Grab my hand!...as though you don't want to see me go..." And she laughed that silly little giggle of hers.

And so I did. I grabbed her hand--the hand that has grown from that of a newborn to an adult woman; the hand of one who is so witty and funny and vibrant; the hand of a young woman on the verge of beginning her own adventure apart from me.

They drove away, all 3 of them waving and smiling and yelling, "Bye, Mom! We will!!!!" (...to all of my admonishments to be safe.)

And then, the little red pickup disapeared around the curve, leaving me standing, yet again, alone. And as I stood there, I remembered that day that I talked to Dad in the pickup as a 12 year old, just learning that life is made up of good times that end, and then more good times to anticipate.

It's heartwrenching in some ways--this whole parenting thing. I'm not sure I will ever adjust to letting go of their hands because, really, I don't want to see them go.

But, of course, I will. I will let go. And I will anticipate the next time they come home...and the next...and the next--bringing all kinds of good times and chatter and laughter in their wake.