…and off she goes

...now you sail away from the safe harbor to find your own corner. ...now you have to carve your own path. ...now you are off to great places. ...the world awaits you with open arms. ...remember, you are deeply loved, dear daughter.

Thrive invites voices from many spheres to share their perspectives on our Community platform. Community stories are not commissioned by our editorial team, and opinions expressed by Community contributors do not reflect the opinions of Thrive or its employees. More information on our Community guidelines is available here.

How exciting, we have a baby girl and heaps of congratulations messages start rolling over.

We create the most amazing memories as parents with her. From diapers, singing lullabies, potty training, preschool to high school, managing hormonal mood swings, shopping for clothes, make-up, prom, peer pressure talks, late-night catching up, and preparing for college.

< the list goes on to infinity >

Was I ready for her leaving? I thought I was.

Summer was busy buying all her dorm supplies, matching her taste. After all, it’s going to be home for her for the next few years. The cushiony comforter, plush pillows, her favorite teddy bear for nighttime hugs, and the long list of supplies made space in the trunk of the car.

Why was I shedding tears driving her to college? I still am not clear, as she was going to be with us for the next four days.

My emotional quotient was skyrocketing high. Chatting, cracking jokes, digging old memories, and one big fat tear rolls down. “Are you crying, mom”? ” No, I smile; my eye is very itchy “. Well, not easy to lie with family, so my eyes swell up even more.

The dorm move goes very smoothly, with no hiccups.

She is happy with her roommates, her dorm friends, but what about me?

I knew I would be sad, but I felt like a tsunami with a giant wave hit me—every minute, I was checking for her messages on my phone.

I felt like a psychotic woman frantically searching for something.

Millions of questions raced through my turbulent mind.

Will she be able to get up for her early morning class? Will she eat on time? How about being safe walking at night on campus, will she be able to manage it? Does she know how to do her laundry? Did she wear her sunglasses and cap in the sun, or will her headache trouble her?

I questioned my parenting, asking if I had raised a confident girl, and then

…her one-line message pops up on my phone.” Mom, I made new friends. I am eating now “….” and I and my roommates love the dorm set up with neon lights, posters, vision boards, and succulents.

A gigantic happy tear rolls down my cheek.

I felt relieved.

Maybe I am selfish.

Maybe I am too attached.

Maybe I am unable to let her go.

I realized I will always be a mom.

I was dreading the final goodbye, but it had to happen.

I was numb, and a flashback of all the memories of my 17-year-old daughter unfolded in front of my eyes. I could not stop hugging her and did not want to let her hands go off me.

Eyes were puffed up again, fighting back my tears, but I let her go.

I miss her very deeply.

Her chatty, boisterous, and humorous ways echo all around. Her closet is kind of half empty. Her space lights are not on. Her favorite brown blanket is not all over the bed. Her room is immaculate and spotless with no ruffles packet or coke cans around.

The house is way too quiet.

I know she can catch an hour’s flight and be home, but her absence is evident.

Everyone says it will get better with time, and yes, I need time.

My daughter is out there now, escaped the chrysalis, ready to face the real world.

Off she goes, my bold, fearless, and fierce little girl to win her marathon.

I know she will be fine and that’s what brings a smile to my face.

I am a proud mother but I miss her, after all, how can one take the mother away from a woman?



Love, peace & blessings

    You might also like...


    Running From Shame

    by Rohini Ross

    Being old does not have to suck.

    by Dianne Sullivan
    The Good Brigade/ Getty Images

    How to Turn Stumbling Blocks Into Stepping Stones

    by Deborah Liu
    We use cookies on our site to give you the best experience possible. By continuing to browse the site, you agree to this use. For more information on how we use cookies, see our Privacy Policy.