This weekend, our daughter and her boyfriend are moving into their new home. Their first home together; her first home away from home. I’m reminded of this moment from Father of the Bride:
Watching our family over the last few weeks must have been highly entertaining; I’m humming “Slipping through my fingers” and “93 million miles” (they’ll only be 40 minutes drive away) and my husband is asking when we’re starting “Naked Saturdays” choosing his preferred humour rather than hugs approach. Even Branston, the Bavarian Mountain Hound, seems to know something is up and wants to sleep on her bed every night.
Am I feeling slightly lost and wondering what role I play once I’m not a co-pilot in her amazing journey? Yes. And I know I’ll learn my new role en-route. I’m more in awe really; standing at the edge of the skyline and watching her spread her wings. Watching all the hopes and dreams she had for her future taking shape thanks to her efforts, her commitment, her ability to take risks and meet challenges.
So today, as they complete the purchase, instead of humming sad tunes that bring tears and a sense of the end of something, I’m choosing to let her fly and enjoy watching. I’m choosing to celebrate the new role I have in her world, and in mine.
I’m choosing to remember the times we’ve spent laughing, learning, exploring, challenging and celebrating. I have found myself smiling as I recall the first days of school, laughing out loud at the memories of holidays, filling up with a real warmth as I remember her achievements along the way.
Am I hurting? Sure – a little bit of me is screaming “what do you mean you’re leaving home – when did you stop being six years old?” Mostly though, I’m choosing to celebrate, to acknowledge the part John and I played in preparing her for take-off. Go fly gorgeous, I’m so very proud of you.