I first said goodbye to her 23 years ago today. She was 2 weeks old, and I was still recovering from the C-section she made me get. But it was our five year anniversary, so we dropped her off at her Grandmother Guy's house and headed over to the Plaza for dinner. I couldn't have imagined a more trust-worthy babysitter. Joann had raised four children very successfully, and I knew she loved this precious baby as much as I did. But it was still hard, hard to let go, hard to hand her over to someone else's care. It was our first goodbye.
Followed by many others. First day of preschool and kindergarten. She wasn't the clingy, tearful type. She bounded off with barely a backward glance at her mother with a lump in her throat. Then there was the first sleepover, a night away from home. The first summer camp. At fifteen she said she wanted to go live with her Aunt Amy's family in China for five weeks. I thought there would be others who would prevent that goodbye - teachers, school administrators, or even my sister who would have to take on this teenager. But my baby girl was persistent (a trait she got from her father), and I found myself saying goodbye once again as I put her on a plane to go to the other side of the world. Just to make sure she was in the care of someone trustworthy, I paid the extra $120 for a United flight attendant to watch over my unaccompanied minor.
That trip triggered a love for travel in my little girl. She went to London with her school band (but there were plenty of chaperons and teachers to keep her safe). I couldn't have been happier when she announced her choice for college - Park University, just down the road from the church I was planting and a short 25-minute drive from home. Sure, she moved into the dorm, but I still saw her at least once a week. It wasn't the same as seeing her everyday at home, but that particular goodbye wasn't so painful.
Then there was the summer she did her study abroad in Copenhagen, with trips to Turkey and Holland. It was only six weeks, and she would be hosted by a recognized school for Americans who study abroad. She would be on her own in a way, but with lots of administrators and teachers to help her out. It was so exciting for her, how could any parent feel sadness at saying a temporary goodbye?
Last year, she found the perfect summer job after graduation - working as a mission coordinator for the Methodist Church in Haiti. Sure, I knew it would be hard work and she would have difficult living conditions, not to mention the emotional toll of living among the broken lives and buildings from the earthquake. But it was only for two months, so our goodbye was a hug at the airport and a promise to Skype as soon as she settled in. I knew that the other adults who were working for UMVIM Haiti would look after this young woman who had never seen or smelled poverty like this. Then I got the phone call from her that I didn't expect - "Mom, I feel God calling me to stay in Haiti." Once again, I thought that circumstances would block this move, but instead every door opened. She came home for a summer vacation, and I knew she'd be home for Christmas. But I didn't know when I said goodbye in August that I was sending her back to a country that would experience a hurricane, a cholera outbreak and political unrest that resulted in rioting and deaths. If I had known, I might not have let her get on the plane.
She survived that year. No, she thrived during that year. She was exactly where she was meant to be, doing work that directly impacted the lives of so many Haitian people. But she knew that a year in Haiti was all her body and soul could handle right now. It was time for her to move to the next thing. Which leads me to today.
She's been home with us all summer. And now it's time for one more goodbye. She's moving to Ft Worth, Texas to begin work on her Master of Divinity degree at Brite Divinity School. She'll live in an apartment and cook her own meals for the first time in her life. She'll make new friends and get a job in a church and come home for Christmas if her church job allows. We'll still see her probably a couple times a year. But this goodbye feels different. It feels more permanent than any of the others. I don't have a trusted adult to hand her off to. She is the trusted adult now.
In retrospect, I guess that's what parenting is - a series of goodbyes. Some of them I didn't even notice. When I look at her baby pictures, I realize I never said goodbye to that adorable infant or precocious toddler. They left gradually and were replaced by an equally amazing preschooler and preteen. And it was illusion that I have "had" her or "held" her. She simply lived here in my care. But she never belonged to me. She was always held by God, belonged to God. I just got the privilege of being her mom.
Goodbye, baby girl. I'm sad to see this version of you slip away, but I can't wait to see the next you I'll meet soon.
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