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Bidding Farewell to My Daughter
Last week, my kids headed back to school, and there was a fleeting moment that went unnoticed by everyone but me. As the kids at our bus stop rushed onto the bus, my son and daughter were the last to step aboard.
“Hey!” my partner called out, phone in hand to capture that final snapshot. They turned back, and my daughter wore what I like to call the “worried smile.” In that photo, you can see her glancing off to the side—at me. My partner clicked the shutter, and just like that, she turned away and was whisked off.
Other parents departed, and my partner and I made our way home. Inside, I felt a strong urge to clutch my stomach and weep uncontrollably, but I forced myself to keep walking silently. I couldn’t tell my partner, who already thinks I’m a little off-kilter, that I had just imagined the end of my life.
What lingered in my mind wasn’t just that look she gave me; it was the realization that, for the first time, I started to wonder how many more times I would see that look in the future. It’s a look full of uncertainty that says, “I don’t want to go, I’m a bit scared, but I need to move on.”
I’ll see that expression when she leaves for college, and I’ll hope her journey is filled with wonderful friendships and personal growth, far beyond any party scene.
I’ll witness it again on her wedding day, praying that the man she chooses is someone who truly appreciates her, just as her father does, and that he understands the fierce love I have for my daughter.
I’ll see it when she’s carrying her own little one, hoping she trusts her instincts and doesn’t doubt herself like I often did.
Later, I’ll catch that look when I’m an elderly woman, and the fear in her eyes will come from seeing me as a shadow of the mother I once was. In that moment, I’ll pray she remembers all the good times—how I read her favorite stories until we knew them by heart, how we played dress-up with her dolls for hours, and how I encouraged her to dance in the living room even when she was nervous.
I’ll hope she recalls how beautiful she thought I was and how she wished we could be together forever. I want her to remember the nights she cried, worrying about losing us, and how I reassured her that we’d be around for a long time.
As she grows, I’ll pray that when she looks at me, she sees not just the woman I’ve become but the memories we’ve shared. Because one day, if life goes as I hope, I’ll be the one looking at my grown daughter—this incredible woman I cherish—feeling that same mix of fear and love as she embarks on her own journey.
Until that time comes, I pray I hold onto every moment, every laugh, every hug.
For more reflections on parenting and the journey of growing families, check out this blog post on home insemination. And for those curious about artificial insemination, this site offers an excellent resource.