The Katywompus Journal Observing Life's Little Quirks by Diane Moody

Entry #1: She's Flying the Coop! No one prepared me for this. I'm not even sure they could. The boxes are packed, the suitcases are bulging, and she's happily tucking yet another handful of CDs into her backpack. I peek into her room-a graveyard of high school memories, forgotten stuffed animals, and winter clothes that will have to wait for the next trip. And I'm overcome with a pain that just won't go away. It's an ache in my heart strangely mixed with the knowledge this is how it's supposed to be. It's time. My firstborn child is leaving for college. Remember the first day of kindergarten when you watched your baby go to school for the first time? Remember how you cried? Not even close! Go ahead and laugh. Roll your eyes. I can take it. Maybe you were in my shoes this time last year, or the year before, or twenty years ago. Maybe it was college, or maybe it was an enlistment in the military, or a job in New York City. It doesn't matter where they're going. It's the going. You tell me I'll get over it. She'll be home before I know it (and hopefully only for holidays or summers, you add.) I understand all that, but right now I just need to grieve a little. Why? Because it seems like only yesterday we cradled this newborn in our arms. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the scent of her baby soft skin fresh after a bath. I can still hear the little girl giggles when we tickle her toes, or the wail of her cries when she went over the handlebars of her bicycle. I can still hear the harmonies of the Backstreet Boys that once drifted under her bedroom door. I can still feel the heat of our battle when I refused to let her go somewhere just because "everyone else is going!" And I can still feel the swell of pride watching her walk across the stage in a scarlet cap and gown only weeks ago. But for the life of me, I can't imagine where the last eighteen years have gone. Of course, they all have to go sometime. They need to go. To stay home and live off Mom and Dad the rest of their lives would be the saddest of all options. There's a great big world out there exploding with promise and adventure and amazing possibilities! I'm grateful she has a chance like this. Still, there's that tug on my heartstrings. Thankfully, I'm not alone in this peculiar grief. My husband handles it entirely different, of course. The old Mars/Venus thing, I suppose. He's all about the tuition payments, meal plans, and having the mechanic check over her car one more time. But he doesn't fool me. Letting go of his little girl is killing him as much as it is me. There won't be enough Kleenex in the state of Kentucky for either of us as we drive away from her dorm that weekend. And there's my friend Susan who's in the same boat. We'll meet for breakfast and cry in our coffee and drowned our scrambled eggs with images of agonizing mother-daughter farewell scenes. "And there I was, clinging to her ankle as she dragged me along trying to break free as I screamed 'Mommy loves you, angel bunny!'" How will they ever survive without us? We'll visualize them crying themselves to sleep that first night, missing us fiercely. Then we'll pour another cup of coffee, and using Cher's famous Moonstruck line, we'll SNAP OUT OF IT! The girls will hit the campus running and never look back. They'll start making new friendships-some that will last a lifetime. They'll have a blast! (Didn't we?) Hopefully, they'll make it to class and keep up with their studies, but mostly they'll begin learning what it means to be on their own. To make wise choices and work hard to follow their dreams. To find their passion in life and go for it! (How's that for a stiff upper lip?) We know they'll make a few mistakes along the way. (Didn't we?) Learning to be on your own can be overwhelming. Not everyone survives it the first time out. So we'll pray for them . . . every day and sometimes all day. We'll beg God to protect them and keep them safe. In the process, we'll learn to trust Him like never before. And maybe, just maybe, they'll occasionally call or send an email home to Mom and Dad. Preferably something other than SEND MONEY! Then again, if I'm totally honest, I have to admit there are a few things I'm looking forward to now. There's that secret craving I've had for years to plow into that now-vacated bedroom and find the floor again. With her gracious permission, I'll hang some tastefully framed and matted portraits where a million photographs have been Scotch-taped to the walls. Yes, I'll save every one of them into albums, carefully journaling a lifetime of birthday parties, best friends, and silly faces. I'll cover the bed with a new comforter and make it just so, all the while remembering my countless proclamations of "make your bed, young lady, or you're not going anywhere!" I'll wipe away years of accumulated teenage dust off the desk and window sill . . . and wipe away a tear of thankfulness for the life that left it behind. Pour another cup of coffee, Susan. I feel another cry coming on. ********************** Click HERE to send Diane an email. She welcomes your comments and suggestions.

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