I Don't Know How To Do This . . .

My precious daughter, a young woman I am SO proud of, and love so incredibly much, informed me just 1 short week ago that she is moving 1161 miles away. Ok, she didn't tell me the exact miles, but in typical MOM style I looked it up. And then I fell apart. I have been crying on and off for the entire week and at some point I keep thinking that perhaps there's a bottom of the tear supply, but I haven't found it yet if there is. Flashes of her life keep running through my head and I know that she is a responsible adult, that I've raised her to be independent, that I did a good job - that knowledge is lost in the depths of the soul wracking grief that I am feeling. I don't know how to do this!!! I don't know how to hug her good-bye and watch her drive away, not knowing when I'll see her again. I don't know how to live my life with my precious child too far away to surprise for lunch, or to take to the latest girl movie, or just to have the knowledge that she's only a few towns over so we can disconnect from our busy lives and connect with each other for awhile.

She is making her life with the man she loves, and who we have come to love as well. She is choosing to go with him to the place where he was raised, to be with his family as he has been with hers up til now. She is trading in her stilettos and city job, for life in the country, on a farm (the mind still boggles at the thought)experiencing things she never imagined she'd be experiencing. I'm happy for her, I'm thrilled that she is strong enough to make this change and know that it will be an adventure for her. I guess I'm grieving for me, and for the loss that I'm feeling. I'm still her mom. She still needs me. Sometimes I wonder if it's my own need for her that I'm struggling with, and dealing with the distance is just a by-product of this need. You see, I thought my children would always be near-by, would always be around for me to mother. It's hard to see that I've done what I set out to do 25 years ago. I raised an amazing woman, a beautiful, vivacious, intelligent creation who the world is so lucky to have living in it. She is ready to spread her wings and fly . . . and I have to step back and allow it to happen without soaking those wings with my tears.

How do I do this? I don't know. I guess the same way I dealt with it when my baby was deployed to foreign soil to serve his country over a year ago . . . but that's a different story and a different set of tears. Next time perhaps.