A Letter To My Teenage Daughter- Who Knew Letting You Go Would Hurt This Much.

You have that far away look in your eyes now. Home isn’t the center of your universe.
I knew it would be this way. I just didn’t know it would hurt so much.

Playing music at a deafening volume, you erect a barrier between yourself and the rest of the family. It is as if you might become contaminated if you were to let us get to you.  You might smell funny and be rejected by whomever it is you are so desperate to belong.

Like a baby bird who is handled by humans and won’t be taken back by its mother- only in reverse.

That open face in the photo I have of you as a toddler, so eager and trusting to take in what the world had to offer- where did she go? Where did you go? Your trust and adoration feel lost to me at this moment. I want to shake an angry fist at a cruel universe, “Why did you give me this, only to take it away!?”. Yet, I reflect… my own mother could never let me go, and I swore I’d do better. I just didn’t know it would hurt so much.

Made-up eyes and a knockout figure, you look down your pretty nose and smirk at the rest of us as though we were clueless trolls.

I mispronounce the name of your favorite clothing store and you shudder visibly in disgust. Even your compliments have a patronizing air. As if I just missed total loserdom, this time at least.

Yesterday, the universe threw me a crumb. Watching TV in my bed, you were exhausted and, uncharacteristically, fell asleep in my arms. It reminded me of when you were a baby and I’d let my arm go numb rather than move it and disturb your sleep. I thought to myself, if this is the last time I hold you, I dare not move.

I know I can’t make it “all better” anymore- but maybe you could just rest awhile in mommy’s arms.

Without words, lectures, questions, opinions between us, I hear your strong heartbeat; your breathing slow, your warm body loses its resistance and melts into mine. Yes, just like when you were little before you could talk.
Before we let the words-opinions-lectures get in the way. Before you found me out to be the imperfect being that I am.

Once upon a time, I was the mommy who made it all better, not the mommy who gets it all wrong.

Your need conjured my milk, my love, my comfort. You looked at me as if I hung the sun, the moon, and the stars. Every day began with the sweetest “Mommy! Mommy!”, as if I brought you the very world.

You awakened my inner movie star. I had, at long last, been discovered.
I sang you show tunes and we danced. You squealed with delight. When you were hungry, I nursed you. When you were tired or cranky, I rocked you to sleep.

You took naps in my arms and full-time residence in my heart.

The sun, the moon, and the stars had nothing on me. I gladly gave up my dreams of fame. The only audience I cared about was bald and had big brown eyes that held all the love in the universe.

You accepted me in ways I couldn’t accept myself. Now you reject me in ways I don’t understand.

So, little girl, rest your pretty head on my shoulder. Take a break from your hurry to grow up, your hurry to leave. I think I’ll take a break from trying to improve, cajole, and advise you.

Remember the perfection we had without even trying- before you found out you would have to leave. Before I started worrying if you have everything you need.

This may not be the last time I hold you close, but I know there will be a last time.

The train is coming for you and you are packing your bags. You have a one-way ticket.

Each time you leave the house you never return completely.

Home is becoming the more a layover, instead of the destination it is for the rest of us.

I know you need to make a home inside of yourself, and your dreams the destination. This, I know is the only way.

Still, it hurts.

So let me hold you and we can remember a time when I had everything you needed, our perfection restored.

We can both pretend we don’t hear that whistle calling you, and my heart isn’t on that track.

Fast-forward a decade later and we are sharing a glass of wine in the home you now make with your husband and 3-year old daughter.

We made it to the other side. Because you were brave enough to leave and I found the strength to let you go.

What looked only like loss to me then… looks different to me now.

Although I don’t mention it, with a tender heart I watch your 3-year old daughter load up her stroller with baby dolls. I hear that haunting train whistle in the distance-the whistle that will call her into her own life. I know what’s coming….who will leave, and whose heart will break.

When the time comes, I hope to be at your side. I have faith you will find the strength to set her free. Finding the strength inside of yourself, you will give her the gift you never wanted to give. It will break your heart.

Yet, you will see mothers who can’t let go cripple their daughters. The cost those daughters pay is much too high.

So without martyrdom but strength, you will do what needs to be done even if it hurts.

Fashioned from the pieces of your broken heart you will grow a new heart-one of compassion and grace. Then and only then will you know of the many gifts you will give your daughter; the gift of letting her go is the greatest and hardest.

Katherine Fabrizio writes about mother/daughter issues  To find out if you suffer from the “good” daughter syndrome go here. 

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