baby girl

August 25, 2024

...and then, she was gone.

Two days ago we dropped my youngest off at college. My baby girl. For 18 years she was mine. No, more than that. Since I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. And really, even before that, when I dreamed of having a daughter, before she even existed. She was always part of my heart.

...and now she's gone.

I'm just sitting here outside while the breeze blows the trees, and the sky above is blue, and I miss her.

I'm looking back over all the years and just letting myself feel sad. Because I need to grieve so that I can let her go. I remember my baby with the squishy cheeks. She used to suck her thumb. She always loved animals. Her first word was "dog" and she would say it for every animal she saw in person, in books, or on TV. She slept in bed with me most nights until she was five years old. When she learned to stay in her own bed all night, I took her to get her nails done as a reward.

I remember the Tooth Fairy, EZ Bake Oven, playing UNO and another favorite board game called Madeline's House, reading bedtime stories, and praying with her for good sleep for hundreds of nights in a row when she was in elementary school and went through a couple of years of not being able to sleep through the night.

I remember the camping trips. Swimming with our Golden Retriever Abby in the river. I remember the birthday parties. I remember painting rocks with her and hiding them at parks for people to find. I remember her dance recitals when she was little and her musical theater performances in high school.

I remember all the times she cried and needed comfort, and how much I treasured being able to help her. Especially as she got older and still trusted me. One night this summer she came into my room around midnight and told me something that had happened with a friend that really hurt her, and we both laid in my bed and cried together.

I remember all her drawings. She's an artist! She has a God-given gift that has awed me over all the years. I remember all the laughter. She's so funny! What will I do with all our inside jokes now that she's not here to share them with? A couple of years ago our family rented ATVs to ride on the dunes at the coast, and I stopped at the top of a huge, steep cliff and looked over at her 50 yards away, and I wanted her to know I was scared! Since she couldn't hear me, I made a motion like I was shaking and hugging myself in fear with a worried face. She laughed. And we use it ever since whenever we feel nervous or scared. Like when she was starting her new job, or when she was graduating high school. Or when she was going out with friends and unsure about how it would go. We shake in fear and hug ourself and make a worried face. We crack up every time. Where will all this laughter live now?

I cried every day this week leading up to dropping her off at school. As parents, we prepare for this their whole lives, but when it finally arrives, it's still something my heart could not prepare for. One evening this week I was lying in the hammock crying, worrying about her and whether she would be OK at school. I won't be there to protect her anymore. I know this is how it's supposed to go, but it's hard to let go! So I asked God, "What do You want me to know about Ivy going to college?" and He said, "This is going to be the best year of her life." I asked, "What do You want me to do?" and He said, "Pray for her."

I've been praying for her about this for months. I pray she will make at least one good friend. I pray that she will do well in her classes and excel at her gifts in Art. I pray that she will be safe. And I pray that she will find God on her own, apart from us and all the things we have tried to model for her.

While I have been scared to send her off on her own, and sad about missing her, I also knew she was worried about going to college. And there was nothing I could do except be there for her. The night before Move-In Day, I went to say goodnight to her. And there were tears in both our eyes. And she said she was scared. And I hugged her tight and said, "I know." 30 years ago, in the summer of 1994, I was leaving for college. And one night I was so scared that I woke my mom in the middle of the night, climbed into bed with her and sobbed in her arms. Ivy knew that story and so I told her she could wake me in the night if she needed me. I went to bed. And cried.

In the morning, as soon as I started to wake up, I told God, "Today is the day. Thank You for being so close to me through everything. Through all of this. I always have You...I pray that my kids would learn to have You close too. So that they can know what it's like to face everything with You by their side."

So we packed up all her things and started off toward her new life. I didn't feel ready. Ivy and I both cried quietly as we drove away from home that day. We did the joke of hugging ourselves and acting scared. I laughed through the tears.

The day was a whirlwind of moving things in, meeting her roommate, going to the store for some last-minute things, a parent session while students met with professors and other students in their major, dinner, evening welcome session for parents and students, then a Candlelight Goodbye at 8:30 PM. It was a long day.

One thing I liked was during the parent session the President spoke of the importance of helping your student believe that they can do this and learn to be on their own. He said not to rescue them in the coming weeks when challenges arise, but to help them learn to problem solve and advocate for themselves. And he also shared a letter his father wrote him when he was in college that he still treasures to this day. So then they gave us time to write a letter to our student that the staff would deliver to them in a couple of weeks.

My husband thought we would write in the same card, but I raised my hand and got him his own card, because I knew I had a lot to write to my baby girl. I love words of encouragement, and when you write them, they stay forever. This was my Mom moment. Dad could write his own letter.

Dear Ivy...

I told her I believed in her. And I told her my hopes for her. And I ended it with:

...And I want you to know, for the rest of your life, no matter where you go or what you do, I will ALWAYS love you and be here if you need me. But I also know you will become more and more independent and will need me less and less. And that's wonderful. Because you're capable and brave and intelligent and kind. And I'm so thankful God gave me you.

Love,

Mom

xoxoxoxo

At the Candlelight Goodbye, they gave us time to privately speak words of encouragement to our students and tell them the things we would miss. I cried and tried to speak confidence into my baby girl and tell her she could do this and that it would work out. I told her how I had prayed earlier in the week and God told me this would be the best year of her life.

What my heart wanted to say was, "I can't do this. I'm not leaving you here. I don't know how to live without you. I'm not ready. I'm going to miss you too much and college is dumb and growing up is dumb. Let's get in the car and go home. We'll eat ice cream and watch movies and forget all about college!"

But I didn't do that. I said the right things. Because this is the right path for her. This is what's next for all of us. But also? This stinks.

Then we blew out our candles and Seth and I put our arms around her out on the lawn in the dark and we each prayed aloud for her. I started us off and got all three of us sobbing. "Dear God, please take care of Ivy while she's away from us. Please keep her safe. Please help us when we miss her. Please help her to be brave and to make new friends. Please help her to know that You're with her..."

The school had wisely passed out tissues and I went through two packages. We took some deep breaths to try to stop the tears. Then we walked her back to her dorm. And we said a final goodbye. And I hugged her again. I will miss the hugs so much. I love holding her close to my heart and giving her a kiss on the side of her head. My baby girl.

And then my husband and I walked back to the car. Without her. I looked at my feet the whole walk to the car because I was still crying. When we got to the car, I hugged my husband and said, "We did a good job with her. She's going to be OK."

Ivy Grace. Go make a beautiful life for yourself, baby girl. You got this.

She was here in this house for 18 years. In the same room. She had a crib in that room. Then she moved into her brother's old toddler bed that was shaped like a fire truck. Then she moved into a little girl's twin bed. Then she moved into a teenager's loft bed with a desk underneath. And now she's off in her dorm. In a stupid college dorm bed. Not here.

And this is so strange. Two days ago we left my daughter at college for the first time. Yesterday we left my son at college for the second time. The house feels empty. Their rooms are quiet.

I keep picturing myself like Forrest Gump the morning after Jenny told him she loved him too, and then he wakes up to find Jenny left him before he got up. He just stares at her empty bed and doesn't say anything. But you can feel the loss. And you know he feels lost.

And then he just starts running until he can find himself again.

I have been a mommy/mom raising two children for 20 years. It has been the greatest privilege and joy of my life. And now they are both away at college and I have to find myself again.

Last night I was home alone after spending two full days moving both kids into their dorms. My husband went to work, and I made a fire outside in the fire pit and sat there by myself, recovering. I thought about my baby girl and how I worry about her. How she has been mine all this time, and how I've been able to watch over her and make sure she's OK. How I've gotten to experience her highs and lows with her all these years. And now she's out on her own. Making her own way. Making a life without me. But she will always be my baby girl. Even though she won't need me in the same way.

I wondered how I'm supposed to do this life now. Without my kids. Without my baby girl. The last one. I'm only 48 years old, and I intend to live until I'm 90 or so. I have a lot of life left. I won't be raising kids anymore. What will I do??

I'm thankful that I will have more time to spend with my husband. He's such a good man. I'm thankful that we got to raise our kids together and now we get to miss them together. There will be more time and more money and more food around here now! But all of these good things don't change how much I will miss my kids.

I sat in the dark by the small fire, and I pondered what this new life will look like for me and how I'm going to find my way. I tipped my head back and tears slid from my eyes down into my hair. I looked up at the night sky and said, "We're going to be OK."

And then I wondered, "Why did I say we?" ...Then I realized that I meant me and God. Because He walks with me every moment of every day. He's as close as my breath and He never leaves me. His love for me is deeper and more tender than my love for my son or my baby girl. Everything I do is "we." Me and God, every day until forever.

So I said again, "We're going to be OK..."

"...because I'm Your baby girl."