August 26, 2009...I wrote
Sitting in Amelia’s room with her gone – she is back to school for her second year of college, I well up with pride and something I have no words for. There are so many, many moments of reflection, smells, laughter, tears, fears, joys and the complete and unexpected surprises that came with the journey of motherhood.
My nest is now empty again, and my heart runith over. I cry so hard that my chest heaves and the loss feels never ending.
I drove Amelia to school this past Sunday. She was expecting to go up with her dad, but when his plans changed at the last minute we grabbed the opportunity to spend a few days alone. We were unable to do this last year.
I had been secretly wanting to take her up, but feeling a twinge of financial guilt I prepared for her dad to take her, and I would see her later in the year for parents weekend if I could.
Last year we all went up to school with her for her big send off... mom, dad, sister, boyfriend, and then visited again for parents weekend with more extended family. She and I had not had much time alone. I was going through cancer treatments, and needed all the support I could muster, and she needed her whole family to send her off into her next stage – her college career. Her freshman year was an adventure and a dream come true. Amelia had gotten into her early decision school and received an amazing scholarship. When I saw her at orientation, walking the campus grounds, I knew she was at her second home.
In the small northern New York town of Geneva the college keeps the community alive, particularly in these very difficult economic times. I thought of the struggles of pride and gratefulness this community must feel. A year of tuition is probably about the same as many residents annual salaries. The college plays numerous roles in supporting projects ranging from primary education tutoring, supporting the arts, and a campus chapter for Habitat for Humanity. The community brings to the students a steeped heritage of triumphs in democracy and the political shaping of the nation we live in. It has worked in partnership for over 100 years.
Sometimes, I wonder if my daughter relates more to the town’s folk than her schoolmates. Puerto Rican and Irish American (with a few other WASPY ingrediants thrown in) from Brooklyn. Her dad and I separated when she was two, and it has always been a simple middle class life with a careful eye on how to pay for what may come next. Amelia was able to go to camp on a scholarship and traveled because her dad worked for an airline. She and I had the great support of community and friends which filled our lives with much joy.
So, as we headed up for her second year, we stole away for a mother daughter moment as so many times before. We packed the car with her summer belongings, and with her IPod handy headed out. The drive is just over six hours. We talked about what she was hoping to accomplish this year and listened to great music. She and I both love how a song can take you back - holding memories. The Red Hot Chili Peppers were a favorite from her childhood, The Dixie Chicks and my western girl roots - Jack Johnson and Jason Mraz for the fun of it!
By the time we arrived, miles of highway and rain behind us, we picked up her keys for the house. No dorm living - Amelia had applied to the themed houses. This year, with two great friends, and about 15 other girls, she will share an old Victorian near the lake. When we arrive there is another family mov’in in. The dad inquires where’s the hubby? I say working - the story is too long. We will sleep in her room, so we start by moving furniture around for a couple hours – then exhausted we head out to pick up the sheets and blankets at her storage facility, get a bite and fall asleep to the quiet of the country life.
By noon the next day we have all her stuff piled up in the middle of her room. My daughter looks at me and I can see in her eyes – how will she get through it all and start to find her way. She says, “How will I do this alone”? I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her, “You will be fine my little chick. I will help and leave when the time is right.” Instead we head out to go grocery shopping and for a few items at Walmart. I reassure her I am not leaving right away.
Back at the house, a couple hours later we organize all her stuff and put it away. She is settled in. I cook for her one last time and share tips in the kitchen that I hope keep her nourished in more ways than just food for her belly. We eat grilled chicken and veggies made with one skillet and the pumpkin carving knife. The kitchen is not yet stocked. It is 10:00PM and I need sleep, and while more of the girls are arriving my time to leave is coming quickly.
I stir at 4:00AM and find it hard to go back to sleep. There is a breeze coming of the lake and I can feel the city and my own commitments pulling at me. It will be good for the house to wake with one less mom. I shower and pack my stuff up. Amelia wakes and asks what am doing…it is time to leave little one. She sits up and we both cry, hug, and say good-bye for now.
Now coming home for the holidays, I am so thankful for my daughter, and the many experiences we share that shape my life.
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