The house is still. Several moments ago, there was this swirl of activity. Packing the car, looking for any last item, making sure she has her coat. Several moments ago, we were still talking. Several moments ago, I was cooking breakfast. Several moments ago, she was here.
And now she is off. And all is still.
I shed just a small tear while waving at her through the front window – I’ve been here before, I know this feeling. I pray. There is snow, the highway was shut down due to jack-knifed tractor trailer. It is now reported safe – but is it?
How do we ever know our children are safe? We do all we can to teach them, to watch over them, to correct them when they go astray. But at some point, we just need to let go. We need to let them make their own way in the world.
And it is so hard.
But when they make it, your heart sings. Your heart sings because this young person that you have nurtured and cared for is now ready to face the world on her own and you just can’t wait to see what will happen.
What she will create?
Where will she go?
Who she will love?
My life goes on, I am pretty much done here. My role is changing, and I am Ok with that. I am ready to see what I will create next, where I will go next.
But one thing won’t change.
I know who I love. And I’ll be waiting for that text that says “arrived safely, love you mom”.
VestaProject 