And Life continues...

reflection along the way

It is done. 

Two weeks ago, my 19 yo daughter buckled into her little pick-up, furniture strapped down in the truck bed, the cab packed with her most precious belongings–mostly instruments and stereo equipment–and said goodbye to her tearful father before pulling away and making the 8 hour journey to the city where she’s now living. 

I left early the next day with our minivan loaded to the brim with what would fit (she’s planning to retrieve the few remaining items when she makes her first visit; hopefully sometime this summer) and followed her. When I arrived in town, I went directly to the cute little house she’s renting with two other young females. She and I unloaded the van, and I offered to help unpack and set things up but she declined, promising to reach out later that evening. We ended up not seeing each other again that day, but she was gracious and clearly taking care to be mindful of my feelings. When I’d seen her earlier, she expressed exhaustion and I could tell she was out of sorts. I would guess she was experiencing some self-consciousness in her new surroundings with a new roommate whom she just met earlier this spring. My heart was torn between compassion for her nervousness and uncertainty, and the pride and deep love I felt as I watched her navigate her new world, knowing her capacity to figure it all out and settle in, wondering what challenges will present themselves as she takes these initial bold steps into adulthood; I recalled my own bold move, 1000 miles from my family, when I was about the same age, and the panic that set in when I realized what I’d done! 

I liked the new roommate very much. I didn’t see the other while I was there, the one who has been my daughter’s friend since they were in middle school, the one my daughter knows is pretty flaky and who was already demonstrating some of her typical flighty behavior. This friend uses they/them pronouns and clearly the new roommate, who seems a lovely young woman who isn’t confused about her gender, shares the rising worldview that recognizes a multitude of genders, and she accommodates them with her language. I’m relieved that she’s in the household; she’s already developed some adulting skills since she’s lived on her own for a year and I appreciate her knack for leadership–both at ensuring necessary tasks get accomplished and at how she inspires their completion. She’s facilitated open communication among the roommates and I look forward to discovering how the three of them will address issues that are sure to arise. They’ve already had a few, and I see my own child responding maturely, keen to be a good roommate herself. 

She was to start work the Monday after she arrived. Amazingly, a few weeks prior, she set her sights on a job and nailed it. There’s actually a different, retail job she wants eventually–an iconic record store, beloved by the locals, and that seeks to be a career option for the music junkies that it attracts–but she’s waiting until she beefs up her resume with more music-related interests and accomplishments. She’s excited to get involved in the local music scene and I think she hopes to add her hard-earned and self-taught skills to it rather than just being a consumer. This girl acquired aptitude with several instruments without any formal instruction and she also nurtures an intense interest in contributing to online music databases.

So, while she considered the record store for her first gig, she decided to hold off until she feels more certain she can impress them and get hired. Instead, she completed an application for another iconic local institution–a niche grocery market in the neighborhood where we lived for her first two years of life. She spent quite a bit of time back then being rolled up and down the aisles in her stroller. The hiring manager called within hours of her application submission and set up an interview for when she’d be in town the following week, apartment hunting. As she did with her first job at Starbucks, she insisted there was no need to apply to other jobs nor to call this one once she’d had the interview (you know, like people do when they really want a job.) And, like her first job at Starbucks, the market called her and offered her a position. (When this happened the first time–months after the Starbucks interview, mind you–she came leaping down the stairs chanting, “I was right! You were wrong! I was right! You were wrong!” I promise she did not learn this from me.) 

I had originally planned for this to be a quick turn-around trip where I’d imagined spending the remainder of the day helping get her things in and somewhat unpacked, taking her shopping for some necessities and housewarming items, and buying her and her roommates take-out from our favorite Chinese restaurant as a belated birthday dinner and then leaving early the next morning for home. Luckily, I have a cousin who lives in this city and with whom I arranged to stay, keeping the plans loose. I was determined to follow my girl’s lead, letting this be her show, and to wait for invitations into her new world. It was so interesting to ride the waves of emotion, bringing myself repeatedly back to this intention while recognizing irrational feelings of hurt and rejection. I practiced self-compassion as I also reminded myself how normal this all must be for any mom helping their oldest leave the nest. I was grateful to have my cousin whom I also consider a friend, mother to two adult daughters who now have their own families, to hold space for my messiness. 

I woke up the next morning, again determined to just flow with the day, knowing it would be silly of my daughter to not take me up on the offer of shopping and confident that she was committed to this birthday dinner at the restaurant she and I share as the source of our favorite Chinese food. I walked half a mile to the nearest Starbucks to grab coffee and continued listening to the audiobook that I’d started on my drive over. I’m an early riser and knew it would be hours before I’d hear from my kid. I called my husband. I went shopping at Trader Joe’s (since there’s not one anywhere near where I live.) I browsed and bought a small used desk off of Facebook marketplace since I had plenty of space in my van and planned to convert her old bedroom into my office. I drove around town a bit thinking I could reach out to local friends to see if anyone wanted to hang out. Usually I would have set up a couple visits ahead of time, but you know, it was supposed to be a turn-around trip. I abandoned that idea and went for short walk on the river, then went and hung out at the library. At this point, I’d texted my kid but she kept putting me off insisting she needed to “figure some things out with others.” I went to Kohl’s to get the bedding I’d thought she’d be picking out herself. 

By this point, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and quite weepy while at the same time, observing these emotions and checking my story. I went back to my cousin’s and continued our rambling conversation that we’d started the day before about Life and all it’s unexpected weirdness. She was fabulous and I was so grateful for her presence as I was processing through this literal separation from my beloved daughter. Yes, there was the added worry of what she might be inclined to do to her body now that she was no longer under our roof. But mostly, I knew what I was experiencing was so normal and common among mothers everywhere. There was so much comfort in that. I could allow the sadness and my cousin understood it and it all seemed to be just right; pain, tears, and all. 

My daughter finally called and we agreed I’d pick her up and we’d spend the rest of the afternoon together (it was only like 2:00, though it felt like it had been an eternity since my morning coffee) then go to dinner–just the two of us. I noticed I was a little nervous, almost like a first date with a new friend. I was cautious in my offerings, wanting to honor her process and not insisting on things she didn’t think she’d need. We ended up at the restaurant rather early and had the place to ourselves. She seemed both confident and fragile, excited and exhausted; I recognized that sort of twilight-zoned daze when someone is going through one of life’s transitions that shakes up everything. She seemed open to our connection but also there was a new something there…I don’t know, that awareness that she is truly a different being than I am.  

I think I once took it as a given that somehow this firstborn child of mine would be just an extension of me, that I would always know her, be able to read her thoughts and emotions, and that in some ways she’d complete me. I think I’ve really come to understand what it means to be enmeshed, and that this pain of separation is not just unavoidable, but important. I find myself grateful that this period of our lives (since she’s been trans-identified) has provided a context for me to get a headstart on grieving the relationship we had when she was younger, forcing me to let go of the little girl she once was, and to figure out where I end and she begins. Many of you reading this already know the profound ambivalence a mother feels when releasing an adult child to the world–and their fate. It reminds me of being pregnant and giving birth to her as an older mom. Having had such a long while as a rather adventurous adult in the world, the experience of becoming a mother blew me away! I had to keep reminding myself of just how normal it is–among the most common experiences of women everywhere and throughout time. 

Now that we are fully on the other side of her childhood, I find myself awed again by the richness of Life and so honored that I get to be her mother. She’s so much more than my daughter! She’s a full person with an inner world that I cannot know. Ahead of her lie all kinds of experiences: joyous, surprising, heartbreaking, wondrous, devastating, beautiful. So many of them will happen without me. It hurts and it’s okay. This is Life. Her Life. It really does feel magical to me. Miraculous. It drives home in a new way, the power of womanhood. Of motherhood. I still hope this is among the many experiences in her future. 

When I took her back to her place, I helped her inside with her packages. We put the groceries away with the delight that comes with deciding the places for things. She declined my offer to help her make her bed in her tiny room, overflowing with the belongings she brought with her from her childhood. We visited briefly with the new roommate who said something about “a man of good taste” in reference to my daughter. Yes, I felt the wave of unease move into my midsection and the feeling lingered as I drove away. I’d come back later that night for a quick hug good bye and I welcomed the tears as I made my way back to my cousin’s where we’d visit on her sofa until the wee hours of the night. I snuck out early the next morning, and headed for home taking a route I’d never driven before, enjoying some stunning scenery and taking time to feel gratitude for all the beauty that lies between our place and hers.

Photo by Jonathan Chaves on Unsplash

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Two weeks later, and we’ve only spoken a couple of times. I stopped texting daily when she hinted that it was a bit much. Her life is as full as I’d hoped, and she seems solid. I haven’t heard a single complaint about her new job where she’s working far more hours. Seems the hecticness of the understaffed Starbucks prepared her well and cashiering at the market is easy in comparison. I could tell she really enjoyed sharing with her dad about how the dishes were piling up in the kitchen sink, and she was the one who took it upon herself to wash them all and tidy up the space. (He got on her regularly for leaving her dirty dishes in the sink here.) When we were on speaker phone with her last weekend, I asked, “Do you sometimes trip out that you live in (that city) again? And that you no longer live with us?”

“Yes, I do!” 

And Life continues. Her employer provides health insurance, but when I asked if she’d like to stay on ours, she said, “Yes, if that’s okay, please.” I very much like that this was her answer. I find I’m not plagued with worry; to be honest, I rarely think about the identity or the interventions she could easily access. While sometimes I experience a new emptiness, I acknowledge that it’s her absence that I’m feeling. But it doesn’t register as sadness. Just a bit of a hole that I know it’s up to me to fill with meaningful things.