Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new journey. We’ll be welcoming back a remarkable young woman at Chicago O’Hare International Airport. Our 16-year-old daughter has spent the entire summer in France, immersing herself in the culture and bonding with family in Lyon. I can sense she will have matured during our time apart.
As we stood in the airport, we found ourselves delaying our goodbyes. “Um, here’s something I made for you. It’s not a big deal—kind of cheesy, I know.” It was late June, and we lingered near the security checkpoint. Our eldest, feeling a bit self-conscious, rummaged through her bag to retrieve two envelopes: one marked “Mom and Dad” and the other for her brother. When her voice wavered, it was enough to break my composure, and tears streamed down my face.
Was she truly ready for this?
I embraced her tightly and released her. She strode confidently towards security, passport and boarding pass in hand, fully prepared for the adventures that awaited her in a country that had long captured her heart. Born in Germany and having lived in Dubai and London, her passport is a vibrant testament to her adventures—a glimpse into her experiences. She walked away from us without looking back, and just like that, the throng of travelers enveloped her. I could no longer see her.
While travel was familiar, navigating it alone was a new experience. Was she equipped to handle this? I worried she might feel isolated or overwhelmed, and I wouldn’t be there to support her.
When she was only eight, I knew without a doubt she wasn’t ready for challenges. We had just bought her a pogo stick, and moments later, she took a tumble onto the asphalt. Her face swelled, bruising quickly, and blood filled her mouth. I had been so excited for her, and now we were racing to the emergency room. The shock in her eyes was a stark reminder of innocence lost.
“It’s not fair!” she cried through her bloodied lips as I held her in the backseat, frantically reaching out to a dentist friend for advice. Her front tooth was shattered, and I managed to find the broken half on the pavement, tucking it away in hopes of a miracle. Meanwhile, the ER receptionist looked at my husband and asked, “Is she going to be OK?” I felt pale and fragile, burdened by the image of my daughter’s injured smile.
That incident taught both of us a hard lesson. It showed her that life isn’t always just, and it can change in an instant. I learned that life doesn’t seek my approval before imparting difficult lessons on my child.
She fell out of love with pogo sticks, hesitating to return to her inline skates and bike. As I waved goodbye to her small figure biking away on a city street toward high school, a tightness gripped my throat. “Be careful!” I called out, my heart heavy.
Was I ready for this?
The loss of control felt like a tidal wave, crashing over the foundations of motherhood. We go to great lengths to shield our children from harm—strapping them into car seats, employing parental controls online, and ensuring they have the best dental care to avoid being bullied. I often wished to protect my daughter from the harsh realities of life, believing she was still just a child.
But in her freshman year, tragedy struck when a classmate she admired took his own life. I wanted to absorb that pain for her, to spare her from the heartache. Instead, I watched as she grappled with sorrow, feeling helpless.
The illusion of control began to dissolve long ago, yet it still taunts me from time to time like a mischievous sprite. I know a self-reliant young woman is returning tomorrow. She did, however, pack her childhood stuffed rabbit, Raggedy Big Ears, as a comforting reminder of the predictable amidst life’s chaos.
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Summary:
Navigating the emotions of letting go as a parent can be challenging. In this reflective piece, Clara Jennings shares her experience of sending her daughter to France for the summer, reflecting on the balance between protection and allowing independence. Through memories of past challenges, she highlights the bittersweet nature of growth and the lessons that life teaches us, even when we wish to shield our children from pain.
Keyphrase: Learning to Let My Daughter Go
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