Well, here it is on the day of my daughter's high school graduation, and I am up at oh-dark-thirty. A nightmare woke me up and there was just no chance of going back to sleep.
I want to stay in bed all day. I don't want to do anything. I definitely don't want to go to work. I am packing up my classroom and getting ready to store all my teaching things in my garage once again. I am deeply depressed about having to start over at another school. This will be the 4th time in 5 years. There must be something wrong with me.
I helped graduating daughter with her salutatorian speech last night. She just needed a little assistance getting her thoughts down... the nervousness about giving the speech was getting in her way. I think in the end it will be a very good speech. She is so happy... I can tell that I am hurting her feelings because I am not happy with her. I am trying, I really am, but my God! You drop them off at Kindergarten and cry because you have to let them go, and in the blink of an eye they are 18, it's done, and you REALLY have to let go. Although I love and treasure the fine young adult she has grown into, I miss my baby.
She has stopped checking in with me regularly. She just understands that it's time now for her to live her own life. There was no conversation... it just happened. Part of me is thankful that we're normal, and the break is happening the way it is supposed to. But, I miss my baby.
I remember when she was born and they had to do a c-section after I had been in labor for over 24 hours. We were both so drugged up by the time she finally arrived that she didn't even cry. I remember being in recovery and trying to nurse her, and family kept coming in to see her. I understood their need to see her but I wished they would leave. I wanted those moments all to myself. If I had it to do over again, I would tell the staff that nobody could come in - NOBODY. I would keep those precious minutes all to myself.
The first night after she was born, I woke up in the early hours and she wasn't in her little bassinet next to my hospital bed. I panicked and called the nurse, and she brought the baby to me immediately. I was stunned that she must have been crying and I hadn't woken up... and very dismayed. What kind of mother would I be if I couldn't wake up when the baby cried at night? It wasn't until many years later that I realized the nurses must have swooped her up before she could wake me because I was recovering from surgery. I certainly didn't have to worry about not waking up... I could hear her sighing from another room. Something magical happens to a mother's hearing in those first few months.
As she grew up, I spent a lot of time simply stunned by her. She spoke her first word, "book," and held "Hop on Pop" up to me to read it to her. She embraced her little sister 14 months after she was born and I never saw a single sign of jealousy. She excelled in school from the get-go. She learned how to treat others well and how to control her temper. She figured out which kind of people she wanted to associate herself with, and who she would rather stay away from. She grew up.
She has made me proud all her life. Now she's off to find her own way in the world, and of one thing I am certain - she will continue to make me proud. Goodbye to your childhood, Jessica. I treasure every second it lasted. Thank you for being my daughter.
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