She moves on

My darling girl has moved out. It feels different to when my darling boy moved out—he moved to a different state, in with his dad, from one parent to another. I still worry about him, but there is someone I can call to make sure he is okay. I know he is happy surrounded by dogs and cars and a giant shed.

But this—this moving out and moving on, in with her boyfriend and friends, the shucking off of a childhood bedroom covered in strata of personality and interests and friendships—this is leaving me surprisingly bereft. I am lucky that we have a beautiful relationship, and that she is smart, kind and sensible. But I worry. Of course I worry. Because she is also sensitive and impulsive and caring, prone to getting run down and burnt out and then sick, and I won't be there to see the shadows beneath her eyes, or the droop of her shoulders. I won't be there to feed her up, nourish and nurture her. I won't get to do her washing or put a hot water bottle in her bed or make her a cup of herbal tea or pack leftovers for lunches.

What I want is to hold her close. To feel the marrow of her, protect her, and absorb her stresses and angst, let her unburden herself on those days when life feels so heavy. I know I can bear it, because I know how much I can take. She doesn't yet. And isn't that one of the hardest parts of being a parent, knowing that they have to come up against life and figure out how much they too, can bear? I am very sure she will be in and out of home for many years to come, yet my time of carrying her feels over. Now I get to walk alongside (if she lets me), offer support when needed, and watch as she chooses her own path. Watch as she will inevitably get lost, then found, and perhaps lost again. The very same cycle that we have all been through, and can see so clearly with the perspective that age and time provides.

This is a time of transition for us both. Each of us will take new steps, fresh starts, and see where they lead. She is 20, I am 53. A part of me envies all the possibilities that lay ahead for her, until I remind myself that they are there for me too. It is also bringing up my own feelings of missing out on the part of my twenties that I spent waiting for someone else, supporting the pursuit of his dreams rather than following my own. I feel like I am straddling a liminal space, a place where anything is possible, which is liberating and also a bit daunting. Because without the daily responsibility that is children at home, there is nothing in my way, except myself. Turns out that at 53 I am still a work in progress :)

Mothers and daughters

I dropped off a car load of boxes and furniture yesterday. The house is perfect for the 4 of them, with big rooms and a garden and spaces for them to be together or apart. The state of unpacking was instantly triggering as I could see all the ways I could do things more efficiently. I didn't say a word, and it wasn't even that hard; in a way I wish I was a different sort of mum, the sort who bustled in and took over, but fortunately I know better than to interfere. I left them to it, planning lunch and debating where to put the couch.

On the way home I cried and cried, happy/sad tears, tears that allowed the knot of love in my belly to be released. I know there will be days that she is ecstatic or purposeful or aimless. I know there will be days that she wished she was home, or living by herself, or maybe with different people in a different place. But she will also have those moments of helpless laughter, impulsive decisions, total autonomy. Days of picnics in the backyard, impromptu dress up parties, dinner parties, board games nights.

So many moments, both important and minute, perfectly textured, formed by this friendship family that have chosen each other.

I know her. And she knows that I will always be here. I know this because she called me not long after I left, and asked me what it means when the vacuum cleaner makes that weird noise and I talked her through all the parts that could be blocked.

When we hung up I cried again, so very grateful that she still needs me.

Much love

❤️

Amanda xxx

PS She has only moved to Mt Lawley, not the moon. I'm aware I am being a giant baby. And I did give them some advice about where to put a cabinet. I'm not a saint!