Heart Hand Goodbye
We’re packing. Not just for a school field trip - but for a trip that has an actual suitcase-packing list for us to follow.
Absolutely giddy about it finally being here after two years of waiting for it to arrive, eager for days away from home with her friends, Tate’s leading the effort. Plus, since she was little, she’s always loved the process of packing, unlike me, who despises it.
I’m on her bed, mostly watching - noticing just how capable she is, trying to allow for all the feelings rushing through my body.
I’m super excited for her.
I’m nervous she’ll be dysregulated for days on end.
I’m proud of her take-charge energy and how she’s crossing things off the list methodically.
I’m worried she won’t drink enough water, eat any protein or remember to wash her hands.
I’m scared to let her go. I know she can do it.
But, what if she doesn’t include some of the other girls or makes a bad choice with her new ‘bestie’ who seems to do that on the daily.
I’m pretty sure she’ll forget her manners and pretty sure she’ll forget to pause to slow herself down.
I know how trustworthy and responsible she is.
A lot of conflicting emotions.
When she was a toddler, I remember saying quite often that I just wanted to put her back inside (it was so much easier that way because I was in charge of every move; it was less messy and cozy).
As I watch her put nail polish and facemasks (?) in a dop kit next to the mini pill container of multivitamins I put together for her and know she won’t remember to take, I want to crawl up onto her bed and snuggle with me.
I say it aloud and she laughs, “Mama, there’s so much to do. I’m leaving in exactly 8 hours and 48 minutes!”
Yes, she’s been calculating for almost a week now.
*
The next morning, on the way to the airport in the dark, we review all the things:
-how important it is to include green choices in every meal
-why we take the time to tie our shoes in public places
-how to listen respectfully to her chaperones and teachers
-what to do if she’s feeling overwhelmed
-where to store her extra money and small hand lotions for easy access traveling
The list goes on.
She’s finishing my sentences for me, which makes me smile but also wonder if she’s rotely memorized what I’ve been talking about for days (years) or if it’s really sunk in.
*
She checks her bag and is wrapped up in the arms of her girlfriends, equally out of their heads with anticipation. Some of the moms stand a bit away from their kiddos. I’m trying to snap photos, at least as many as they’ll let me.
I hear a sweet boy say to his mom, “Leeeave Mom.” And am reminded I’m not alone. We’re on the fringe and they’re already off, on their adventure, right there in front of our eyes.
Though I don’t know her, I wink at her warmly to let her know I see her heart.
When the science teachers shout, “Bye, Parents!” and start to take them toward security, Tate and I hug and I try to leave her with one last important reminder - whatever my swirling head can come up with.
“I love you, sweet pea. Just remember, only BE ways you’re proud of.”
Was that English? I don’t think it was even close to being grammatically correct. Yet, that’s what came out.
I give her my crooked, somewhat self-deprecating smile to which she, knowingly, appreciating my imperfect unstoppable love, nods and gives me one more, “I love you, Mommy”. And off she goes.
I watch as many moms follow the group inside. I have to go that way to get back to my car, but trail back as now, we’d had our goodbye.
I know it’s my time now to let go and tend to myself.
Inside the doors, I stop and stand a minute, a ways away from the group, watching them move like a pack of sea anenomes, talking a mile a minute. I watch as my baby girl makes her way right up next to her travel leader, holding her travel buddy’s hand and dragging her along, so they can hear better. Smart move. She’s got this.
I exhale and take it in. The size of the group of boys and girls headed to California. How I don’t know so many of them. The sounds of the airport now obliterating their voices. Her eager, tall, listening body. My own sadness mixed in with my pride.
Another mom comes to stand next to me, wanting that same amount of distance, but a last look.
We exchange a few words about how big this is. I share this is Tate’s first time ever traveling without me. It’s her first time away from home, from any family, for four whole days. This other mom commiserates and then takes herself to the parking garage.
I stand one more minute, with enough space so Tate wouldn’t notice me. But close enough in case she looks over, once more.
IF she does, just if - I plan to send her a quiet but powerful half heart hand. Quite unsure if I’ll get the chance or not, I wait a few breaths.
She suddenly cranes her head above the group and like a laser beam, her face shines straight over to mine. I raise my arm up and give her my heart. She raises her hand up and gives me her half.
Smiling, teary, I nod, turn and go.
