The transition is difficult... from her being here everyday. I watch her as she packs up old toys and books from her childhood. But isn't she still a child? Still a youngster who needs her parent? The transition is difficult... she's pulling pictures and posters from the wall. And the colorful poem written in bright paint on the closet door is highlighted even more without the surrounding poster decor. It will be very difficult for me to let go.
High school is almost over for her. She's planning her next move into a house of her own and a college schedule that seems close to her high school schedule. She'll still have to get up early and juggle teachers and classes just as she does now. But who will fix her breakfast? and lunch? and dinner? Who will buy the groceries and plan the meals? Who will wash her clothes and linens... on a regular basis? Who will hold her when she's sick with a fever? Not me... anymore.
I walk by her room now and the echo is apparent. She's packed most everything and discarded what she no longer needs. Hubby and I went through the garbage bags and found too many keepsakes. And we fished them out and dusted them off and placed them carefully in our memories. We just can't throw everything out. I kept her first books. I kept all the teacher's accolades. I kept all the awards and trophies from every event and more. Her first doll. Her first stuffed animal. Pictures of her first river trip. On and on, we poured through the remnants of her childhood as tears rolled down my cheek. Sigh... I will miss her so much.
Overwhelmed by her near empty room, I slip out only to hear her scrambling through papers. Another bag of garbage coming out of her bedroom. She has a grin on her face; wide from ear to ear. Her excitement over her new anticipated beginnings is contagious, and I don't want her to see me cry.
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