I left home at fifteen. Fifteen is young, too young. Although I navigated the terrain, gave it not much (conscious) thought, and was blessed with much needed support (in today's lingo: infrastructure) to provide for my needs, the "retrospect-o-scope" shines some light on the fallout. Leaving home at this age made me grow up fast and may have contributed to my constant sense of anxiety, anticipatory loss, and feelings of vulnerability. Maybe. This musing is simply background for today's post which is about saying goodbye, my daughter's leave taking for places afar, and the feelings revived as I reflect on bits of my past.
Times are entirely different: the setting, the maturity, and especially the advances in communication. Leaving home in 2008 is nothing like leaving home in 1972 when a telephone call with static crackles and echos traversing the 3000 miles between us, a cablegram, or stamped letter were the only means of connection. The letter which is now a near obsolete art form, in those days was the solid rock of connection spanning the distance between loved ones. I have hundreds of them saved as proof, each a precious bit of history preserved. Thirty six years later, as I say goodbye to my 20 year old daughter journeying to Europe, there are myriad options for connection: cell phones, text messages, Skype, Twitter, Facebook and email, all emphasizing rapid and real-time communication. I wonder if there will ever be a letter or postcard unless it's an afterthought, a honored salute to past tradition.
Despite the advances in technology, I still sit and fret about letting her go. Two years of college behind her, I know she is prepared to live away from home. She is independent, savvy and sensible. But the entire continent and ocean blue are orders of magnitude bigger than the 290 mile stretch of Interstate 90 that separated us before. I'm trying to get my mind around this concept especially when the end point is vague. We still don't know when we will be able to visit or if she will journey home for the Christmas holiday. The potential 8 month stretch apart looms large and albeit doubtful to last that long, fuels my restless nature. I don't enjoy open ended, amorphous plans. Duh.
As we enter the final days of preparation, the contrasting, often roiling emotions underscore dramatically what this experience is for me. I'm digging back to my past, remembering what it was like to be the one leaving home (or, was it actually being the one left behind at boarding school?). But now, as the parent, I'm reflecting back on the emotions my Mother might have experienced when she bid goodbye to me way back when. The composite is an unstable, ever changing, unpredictable landscape juggling around in my head. Out of the blue, I weep (or wail). Then, I plunge back into the business of preparation putting emotion aside for the sake of forward progress.
We've just got to get through this rough patch, I tell myself. Things will smooth out when we can settle into the new normal.
This may be one of those times when the best way is the way that gets you through. Despite how hard this has been, you're doing what needs to be done. I respect your strength, then as a child left at school and now as the mother of a daughter who made the decision to travel abroad.
ReplyDeleteThe new normal...I can identify with the desire for that. It is the times of transition from what I know to what I can't predict that present the biggest challenges for me.