This was sent to me by a mother whose daughter had just gone on her first school camp and she wrote it straight after she'd left.
"Once upon a time, you were with me everywhere I went; you'd watch my every move... long before you could crawl or articulate yourself well or navigate friendships and responsibility, you'd sit on the grass in the sun, watching me hang clothes on a line. You probably wondered what the fuss was all about: pegs and wet clothes, etc. Us humans are funny creatures. And today, almost a decade later, I continue this strange tradition of pegs and wet clothes, except... you're not here. You've travelled what feels like 100 miles away (we don't even measure in miles here, baby girl, by now you know this). You're only gone for a short time, but your absence represents what the goal of parenting is to begin with: to let go. Letting go starts with your first breath and finishes with you leaving the nest for good. I understand this. But right now I'm in between these two ends, letting you go, slowly and gently: watching you pack your own bags, watching you make decisions that could alter your childhood, watching you flourish and turn into a bigger version of your former self, and not just physically. Today I let go in an effort to let you grow. It's beautiful, it's sweet, and it's heart stuff too. And I pray that you enjoy yourself and learn new and better things as you watch not only me anymore, but others around you, and that those around you may provide a compass that will always keep you grounded and moving forward in life, whatever that may mean to you. I hang these clothes and I think of you and remember your tiny face of yesterday, and envision your face in the future, maybe travelling, maybe staying... but no matter what, hopefully - more than anything, hopefully - you'll be right here beside me from time to time, sitting on the grass in the sun, watching me hang clothes on a line."
"Once upon a time, you were with me everywhere I went; you'd watch my every move... long before you could crawl or articulate yourself well or navigate friendships and responsibility, you'd sit on the grass in the sun, watching me hang clothes on a line. You probably wondered what the fuss was all about: pegs and wet clothes, etc. Us humans are funny creatures. And today, almost a decade later, I continue this strange tradition of pegs and wet clothes, except... you're not here. You've travelled what feels like 100 miles away (we don't even measure in miles here, baby girl, by now you know this). You're only gone for a short time, but your absence represents what the goal of parenting is to begin with: to let go. Letting go starts with your first breath and finishes with you leaving the nest for good. I understand this. But right now I'm in between these two ends, letting you go, slowly and gently: watching you pack your own bags, watching you make decisions that could alter your childhood, watching you flourish and turn into a bigger version of your former self, and not just physically. Today I let go in an effort to let you grow. It's beautiful, it's sweet, and it's heart stuff too. And I pray that you enjoy yourself and learn new and better things as you watch not only me anymore, but others around you, and that those around you may provide a compass that will always keep you grounded and moving forward in life, whatever that may mean to you. I hang these clothes and I think of you and remember your tiny face of yesterday, and envision your face in the future, maybe travelling, maybe staying... but no matter what, hopefully - more than anything, hopefully - you'll be right here beside me from time to time, sitting on the grass in the sun, watching me hang clothes on a line."
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