In the week after my first child, a daughter, was born, my hormones took me on one heck of a thrill ride. Up, down, exuberant, weeping, weirdly angry with my husband for not understanding. And who could blame him? I didn’t understand it myself. Yet every feeling was so deeply real and rational in the moment, it seemed he should be right there with me. Thank God he wasn’t.
I remember with crystal clarity staring at this tiny bundle of soft vulnerability, and realizing at full volume what I had taken on. Not just the care and feeding of another human being, for which I was fully prepared—I’m an oldest child, had babysat my way through high school and worked with kids for a large portion of my career. I’d had thirty years of preparation.
What I hadn’t figured on was this: I had willingly agreed to a lifetime of desperation.
Desperate love of a kind I’d never known. Desperate worry. And a thought blinked across my hormone-addled, sleep-starved brain like an LED warning sign over the highway: THIS WILL NEVER END.
Before she was born, I had considered parenthood from my own daughterly perspective. I grew up and moved away and my parents stopped taking care of me. Their job wound down to check-ins when I went to college, and ended completely when I graduated and moved across the country. They have their own lives; they don’t “parent” anymore.
Right?
Well sort of. But not really. Like muscle memory, the instinct never quite goes away. I figured that out quite abruptly in a large urban maternity ward, gazing starry-eyed at my newborn girl. That’s when I understood with anvil-dropping certainty that no matter what happens to either of us, I would belong to this child for all eternity.
Which means an eternity of parental desperation. I would love and worry about someone who’s bound to leave me. Forever. Because that’s how real love works: it permanently alters the soul.
One of the stranger thoughts I had (remember those hormones) went something like: “Ohmygod (sniff, weep), I’ll be ninety, and she’ll be sixty and I’ll be worried about her retirement package (sob, sob).” At every crossroads in her life, big or small, I would be holding my breath and praying for good results.
Eighteen years later, I’m even more certain it’s true. Because this is when she leaves.
She’s chosen a path for herself—yes, with guidance from us, but not that much. In truth, we only nudged her away from places we thought would be a bad fit, toward places that would provide fertile soil for her her-ness.
And while I feel completely confident in her ability to make her way in the world without our daily presence, I don’t feel nearly as confident in myself. Me and my altered soul aren’t so sure about it. My desperation meter is inching into the red zone.
I recently watched a movie in which a young woman was deciding who would walk her down the aisle at her impending wedding—who would “give her away.”
Years ago, as I planned my own nuptials, people would occasionally ask if my father would be “giving me away.” My reply was generally along the lines that both my parents would be walking me down the aisle, but I would be giving myself. I wasn’t theirs to give.
I still feel that’s a true statement. No one can give your heart but you.
However, I now realize my parents, who held my hands and cried all the way to the altar, weren’t really capable of handing me over, anyway. They love me—desperately—and so I am engraved upon them in ways that they, and I, have no control over. They’re not the them they used to be before I came along. I get it now. Boy, do I ever.
By the way, at the end of that aisle, I saw my beloved soon-to-be husband, dropped my parents’ hands and went to him without so much as a backward glance or a “thanks for the ride.” When I saw the wedding video a couple of days later I felt kind of bad about it. My guilt has grown over the years, as my own “letting go” time draws near.
If we’re any good at it at all, we parents are, day by day, hug by hug, door-slamming fight by door-slamming fight, supposed to be working our way out of a job. The point is for them to go off and find their own deep and desperate loves.
And I take some secret pride in how excited I am for her to leave the confines of this small, sweet town, and in the fact that she has no idea how often I bite back sad, selfish tears at the very thought of it. That’s my girl. Her future is bright.
And so I am letting her go.
But let us be clear: I will never, ever give her away.
So nice to get an update on your family, Jude! And I’m so glad you enjoyed the books.
Hi Julie,
Through a long series of ‘clicks’ I ended up at your blog. I remember Brianna and your family so well. My son just graduated from UVM. My gals are in their second year of college; apart.
I am loving the process of letting go, partly because I get to have ringside seats at the unfolding. Best of luck to all. I read your first book and look forward to reading the others. Great writing that resonates. Jude
I just sent my last “baby” off to college and it broke my heart. I’m so happy that I as a single mom was able to raise a child so that she could spread her wings and fly, but Oh, my heart just wasn’t ready to “let go”. She is a permanent part of my soul, my being and to not be able to see that beautiful face and have her hugs on a daily basis is hard. Today, I let her take my care on a four hour road trip to go up to a competing college’s football game by herself. Letting your baby fly on her own is bittersweet.
As a mother of a 37-year-old, I share your pain (and hope). It gets better; I re-connected to my spouse, began centering my life on adult activities and kept the door open. Our son has experienced downs and ups since then, but always with the reassurance and advice (when requested) of his dad and me. We are good friends and truly enjoy one another’s company, which I think is an added plus of all this. It never ends, but I wouldn’t want it to.
Thanks Julie for sharing this beautifully touching piece. I am sharing it with my friends who are recent empty nesters. Hope Brianna loves UVM!
Julia-
Your post is so perfect at this time of year for so many of us. I always remember the way you described a parent’s love in Shelter Me as a “desperate love” and it is so true. Your words that “real love permanently alters the soul” rings so true with me, as well. Your books have been among my favorites. I can’t wait for the release of the new one.
All the best- Anne Healy Ayella
Thanks so much, Laura and Kathy. And I know what you mean about the whole community missing them, Kathy. I’m also missing Brianna’s friends who spent so much time here with us this summer!
Julie, you are a fabulous writer. I have tears. I know parents miss their kids most, but the whole community misses them as well. It changes everything. I am still missing kids that graduated 10 years ago. When I see them now, I am as proud of them as their parents are. Most of us do not like change very much. Beautiful piece and you have a very lovely and lucky daughter.
Oy. So good, Juliette. I’ll be feeling this pain, God-willing, in about 6 years. Not looking forward to it, but pieces like yours help. xo
Thanks so much for your very sweet comments, Michelle and Uncle Jim. And Megan, thanks for snuffling. You know how I love to make people cry.
Juliette, your daughter is beautiful just like her mother. I never had any daughters (and to this point, so far no granddaughters either), but as a parent of three wonderful sons the hardest part of parenting is letting go. We spend all those years preparing for the day they will leave the nest, but in the process we forget to prepare ourselves. She will always be your little girl even as she takes on bigger responsibilities as an adult. Job well done mom!
I’ve been snuffling back tears as I read this. You couldn’t express it much better. Thanks for sharing.
One thing you can be sure of, you and Tom have given Brianna a solid foundation and all the tools to build the next chapter of her life.
Okay, I’ll admit, when I read the part about “She is ready. You done good.” I got a little teary, Janet. That’s all we want, really, isn’t it? To know that we did a reasonably good job at this enormous and important task of preparing a human being for adulthood. And it so reassuring that the closeness remains or grows stronger. Okay, off to find some tissues … 🙂
Juliette – Thanks for your words here – they are so true. Having been through it twice myself, I know how hard it is, how mixed our emotions can be about it. Having known B for 4 years, I am confident she is going to shine. She is ready. You done good.
And the commenters who say when she comes back you’ll be closer than ever? Absolutely true. I *am* wondering why no one ever warned us of that desperate, eternal love….
I hope it went well, Judy! As I continue to hear from people about this post, I realize there is a whole contingent of moms and dads out there wondering what to do with themselves, and possibly shedding a tear (or 20) as we watch our babies go off to their new lives …
Such perfect timing to read this as I sit in my hotel room after dropping ym oldest off to freshman year at college today!
Thanks, Mom!
That’s great advice, Susan, and great to know your relationship with her has only grown closer!
Yes….you are right …desparate love …..for you …..for your girl ……forever.
Love your sharing, Julie. As a high school counselor, after leaving my own daughter off at college, I was despondent. Is this my job? Walking people down the gangplank? I cried for four days straight, then broke the cycle by reaching out to help someone in need. So, that’s what I prescribe to parents now, after the college drop-off. Find someone and help them with something. It helps the helper. My daughter and I have never been closer since drop-off day 8 years ago.
I know what you are feeling, since I just dropped mine off last Friday. It took everything in my power not to sob as he walked away. I didn’t want him to feel guilty for leaving me. This is what he is supposed to do. And no matter how sad it makes me that I don’t have him here with me, I am even more proud of the man he is becoming.
Thanks so much for all your good wishes, and kind words about my lovely girl. I know she’ll have great experiences out in the wider world and I’m thrilled for her. She’s so ready. But me? Not so much.
she’s absolutely beautiful and so is your writing!
I know just what you mean, it’s hard to let go!
I have two daughters ages 11 and 12.5 and it’s so hard
even to let them go to a friend’s house!
hugs and best wishes to your beautiful girl!
tara
Beautiful! My daughter started 9th grade this year. I’m already emotional at the thought of college, knowing how quickly the next four years will pass. I felt every word you wrote in my heart and completely agree with you!
Thanks for your thoughts! I love the photos — and good luck to your new freshman and the whole family.