Tomorrow marks a new beginning. We’ll be welcoming a wonderful young woman at Chicago O’Hare International Airport. Our 16-year-old daughter, Zoe, has spent the entire summer in France—five weeks with her extended family in Lyon. I know she’ll feel different when we see each other again.
As we stood in the airport, delaying our goodbyes, she handed me something. “Uh, I’ve got this for you. It’s nothing big, just something I wrote. I know it’s kind of cheesy.” It was late June, and we were near the security checkpoint. Zoe fished two envelopes out of her bag—one labeled “Mom and Dad,” and the other for her little brother. When her voice broke, my tears began to flow.
Was she ready for this?
I hugged her tightly and let her go. She walked toward security with confidence, passport and boarding pass in hand, eager for the adventures that awaited her in a culture and language she had long admired. Born in Germany, she’s already lived in places like Dubai and London. Her passport is a colorful testament to her travels, hinting at all she has experienced. As she walked away, she didn’t even glance back. Suddenly, the bustling crowd enveloped her, and she was out of sight.
While travel wasn’t new to her, traveling alone was. Would she feel lonely? Would panic set in, and I wouldn’t be there to help her?
When Zoe was just 8, I knew she wasn’t ready for certain things—and neither was I. She had just fallen off a pogo stick we bought her and blood was pouring from her mouth. Her face swelled, turning a deep shade of purple. She had always been proud of her pogo skills, and we didn’t mind her trying out the newer model before heading home. But now, we were racing to the ER, her shocked expression reflecting a harsh reality check.
“It’s not fair!” she cried, blood spilling as I held her in the backseat, desperately calling a dentist friend for advice. Her front tooth was half gone, and I had miraculously found the broken piece on the pavement, tucking it away in hopes that the dentist could fix it—for her sake and mine.
At the ER, the receptionist pointedly asked my husband, “But is she going to be OK?” I felt pale and spent, sitting in a plastic chair, the image of my daughter’s battered face etched in my mind. The doctor also brought up the concern of a head injury.
That fall taught us both hard lessons. Zoe learned about life’s unfairness, while I realized that life doesn’t ask for permission before throwing challenges our way.
She eventually lost interest in pogo sticks and took her time getting back on her inline skates and bike. I should have felt grateful seeing her biking confidently toward high school, but instead, my throat tightened as I called out, “Be careful!”
Was I really ready for this?
This feeling of losing control shattered all my motherly instincts. We try to shield our kids from harm in so many ways—strapping them into car seats, using parental controls online, ensuring they look good to avoid teasing from peers. I had harbored an unrealistic desire to protect her from life’s harsh realities.
She’s still a child, after all. I thought she would have to face the hurts later.
But then, during her freshman year, a classmate she admired took his own life. I wanted to absorb that sadness for her, but all I could do was watch as she grappled with a pain I couldn’t shield her from. I wished I could be the superhero mom, like Elastigirl from the Incredibles, reaching out to rescue her from every danger. But I found I simply couldn’t.
Years ago, the illusion of control began to fade, and it occasionally rears its head to tease me, like a mischievous goblin.
Yet I know I’ll be welcoming back a self-sufficient young woman tomorrow. Though I must admit, she did pack her well-loved stuffed rabbit, Big Ears, in her backpack—a small token of comfort from her childhood. Unlike life, Big Ears always delivers a sense of predictability.
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In summary, letting go of our children as they grow is a daunting challenge, filled with moments of joy, sorrow, and everything in between. Watching them take steps towards independence can be both liberating and terrifying. Learning to embrace change, while still holding on to the comforting aspects of childhood, is part of the journey of parenthood.