You are leaving home today. I keep repeating that statement over and over in my mind, trying to understand what it means. I had your whole life to prepare for this, sometimes wishing it would come fast and sometimes hoping this day would never come. Most of the time, though, I’ve been preparing myself and you, madly gathering life’s questions and answers hoping I haven’t forgotten anything. I keep going through the list in my head; Marking all the things I know I’ve already told you, so many times.

As tempting as it is to slip in some of the big boys in casual conversation, I correct myself and let it slide. An image of your face appears before me and I see your eyes look up and your mouth tighten with that expression of yours that we both know so well. “Mom, I know, you’ve already told me a hundred times.”

Well, you know me well enough to expect a letter in your luggage with just a couple of pages of instructions on ‘staying safe and healthy’. You can even expect to find food there, a little treat to keep you going. And lots of XXX scrawled on a note like loud kisses on your bare belly.

Protecting and preparing you has been a big part of who I am – it’s hard to redefine myself and accept that my job is done.

I remind myself that this is about you, but as always, here I am making it about me again. Slightly neurotic, I find myself wanting to explain or apologize or get some kind of absolution from you. I want to go back to your story and get your attention and wipe the slate clean of all my mistakes. I admit I’ve been selfish and hypocritical at times, and I don’t want you to walk away now thinking it was your fault or that you didn’t deserve better.

Yes, yes, I hear you say ‘Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter’.

I want so badly to tell you about the promises I made, while you slept under my heart so many years ago. So real and deep to me and so intense that I’m sure I’d cry if I tried to tell you. You, of course, would switch from one leg to the other and endure my revelation with discomfort and impatience.

Mini movies of first steps, first words and first everything else consumes me. Tooth fairies and Santa Claus and Easter bunnies. Small trophies, wall signs, clay models and lego buildings.

I’m indulging, it’s my prerogative, but I’ve promised myself to keep it all to myself. I want to remember, at a time when you have one foot out the door. I go back to the baby and you advance to the man. You have freedom, independence and adventure in mind. I know you are ready; capable, competent and smarter than I will ever be.

My attitude changes when I accept that you don’t need any precautions, no more moralizing; no more “You know what to do…”

And although I have represented myself as father and teacher, I see so clearly that I have also been the student. I have learned so much from you, you have played such an important role in shaping me into the person I am. You have taught me well and I thank you.

Now, I am compelled to tell you all the things about you that fill me with pride and wonder. Another long list of what you have achieved, the person you are, your character and integrity. I want to place wishes on you and insist that they all come true for you. I want you to stand at the head of the table and have everyone who ever knew you come forward and pay tribute to you. But, you would also hate that.

It’s never about what you’ve done or anything you’re capable of doing. It’s just about who you are; the real value is in the fact that you exist.

No, you don’t need to be told who you are or what you’re capable of. You don’t judge yourself for those things and I don’t want you to either. You’re your own person and you’re comfortable in your own skin, and at the end of the day, that tells me I’ve done well. That tells me that you are ready for the world and the world will be better for having you as a participant.

I really don’t need to tell you any of this, even now I wonder what impact the words have had. I think I’ve taught you by example, but more than that, I think you’ve always known my heart. The umbilical cord could just be a symbol of the heart-to-heart connection between mother and child.

When you leave today, I will light an imaginary candle and place it on the windowsill. Think about it, if you get lost in the shadows or if you need to light up. May it always be your beacon.

And ultimately, there are only two things left to tell you: “I’m proud of you and I love you.”

Copyright Sonya Green

www.reinventandome.com

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