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Learning to Let My Daughter Go
Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. We’re set to meet a remarkable young woman at Chicago O’Hare International Airport. After spending the entire summer in France with her extended family in Lyon, our 16-year-old daughter has changed in ways I can’t fully comprehend yet. I know she’ll be different when we reunite.
As we stood in the bustling airport, we delayed our goodbyes. “Wait, I have something for you. It’s not a big deal, just something I wrote. It might be a little cheesy,” she said shyly. It was late June, and as we hovered near the security checkpoint, our eldest daughter rummaged through her bag to pull out two envelopes — one addressed to “mom and dad,” and the other to her brother. When her voice trembled, my tears began to flow.
Was she really ready for this?
I embraced her tightly before she moved toward security, passport and boarding pass in hand, eager for new adventures in a land rich with culture and language. Born in Germany, she had already lived in Dubai and London, and her passport was a vibrant testament to her travels, hinting at all she had experienced. As she walked away from us, she astonishingly didn’t look back. Suddenly, the crowd enveloped her, and she vanished from my sight.
While travel was familiar to her, flying solo was a new challenge. Was she prepared? What if she felt lonely or panicked? I wouldn’t be there to comfort her.
When she was just 8 years old, I knew she wasn’t ready for certain experiences — and neither was I. The memory of her falling off a pogo stick, blood spilling from her mouth after just getting it, still haunts me. Her face was bruised and swollen, and I could see the shock in her eyes. It was a painful moment that marked a loss of innocence for both of us.
“It’s not fair,” she murmured through her injuries as I desperately called a friend who was a dentist for advice. I had even found the half of her tooth that broke, hoping the dentist could restore her smile. Meanwhile, the ER staff was concerned. “Is she going to be OK?” they asked, and I sat there in a daze, my mind racing with worry.
That fall was a turning point for us both. She learned that life can be unpredictable and unfair, and I came to understand that I couldn’t shield my daughter from every hardship. I realized that life wasn’t going to seek my permission to teach her tough lessons.
She eventually distanced herself from pogo sticks and took her time getting back on her bike. I should have felt grateful to see her growing in confidence, but as I waved goodbye to her biking toward high school, a tightness in my throat reminded me of my fears.
“Be careful!” I called out, grappling with whether I was truly ready for this next step.
The loss of control I felt as a mother often challenges the very principles I’ve held dear. There are countless ways we try to protect our kids, from securing them in car seats to using parental controls online. I longed to shield her from the cruelties of life, but I knew that she would have to confront her own struggles eventually.
Then came the tragic moment in her freshman year when a classmate she admired took his own life. I wished I could absorb that pain for her, but I could only watch as she grappled with a new, painful reality. I wanted to be the invincible mom who could protect her from all harm, but I wasn’t.
While my illusion of control began to fade long ago, I know my daughter is coming back as a more self-reliant young woman. Despite her growth, she still packed her beloved stuffed rabbit, Big Ears, in her backpack — a symbol of comfort that promises a level of predictability amidst life’s uncertainties.
For more on navigating the complexities of parenting, check out our blog posts on home insemination kits and related topics, such as those from Make a Mom, which provides insightful resources. You can also find excellent information about fertility and pregnancy at Johns Hopkins Medicine.