That's my daughter in the waterEverything she owns I bought herEverything she ownsThat's my daughter in the waterEverything she knows I taught herEverything she knows~ Loudon Wainwright IIII
I used to sing that song to my daughter, but instead of singing, I spent this past weekend driving a big truck, a truck loaded to the gills with furniture, clothes, books, and stuffed animals. The truck held a collection of all the assorted items that my daughter loves so much; everything but me. You see, my wife and I have now experienced what all parents eventually must experience.
Our child has left home to live on her own.
We didn’t expect this to be so difficult. In fact, ever since we learned that Morgan was moving out, we've entertained grand visions of what to do with her room. We thought about converting it into an expansive, roomy closet. Or, after a recent visit to Spa Gregorie, we considered creating a peaceful sanctuary, a Zen retreat where we could escape the unavoidable pressures of the day. Or, better yet, a recording studio for the boys and me, a dedicated place for all our guitars, amps, etc.
But ever since Morgan left, Julie and I can barely muster the energy to enter her room. The room is completely empty, the red and gold walls that I painted for her are now cold and bare. Before this, the only time that room had been empty was 18 years earlier, when we moved to this house, and our then 2-year-old daughter considered the room to be all hers, a place to play with her dolls and to read in bed late at night, dreaming of one day becoming a “big girl.”
“Daddy, don’t be so sad. You knew this day was coming,” she said.
“I figure I’m going to die someday too,” I replied, “but I’m not ready to face that either.”
Just because our little girl is off living on her own, Julie’s maternal instincts have not abated. She’s been buying bath towels, hampers, waste baskets, bedding, etc., and has found herself carefully folding our daughter’s linens with the same deliberate, loving care that she displayed when Morgan was just our little baby. She's heard songs on the radio that she previously would have ignored, except that now these songs remind her of when Morgan was a young girl, the songs Morgan and her friends would sing as Julie drove them to and from school every single day.
We no longer hear our daughter’s alarm clock sounding at 5 a.m., we don’t hear her gabbing on the phone late at night, we don’t hear her calling for our dogs, we don’t hear her shouting at her brothers. Our kitchen is cleaner, the vegan food is gone and our street no longer looks like a parking lot. And we miss her. We miss her a lot.
At some point in its young life, a baby bird will leave the nest and ultimately hop around on low branches, strengthening its wings in order to be strong enough to take flight. We know this to be the natural order of things. We also know that we aren’t the only parents going through this. And we know that we’ll be fine. In a while.
With graduation season behind us, Julie and I have received a lot of love and support from our friends, and we know that we are not alone. We would love to hear your stories about when your children moved out, and how you dealt with this emotional situation.
That's my daughter in the waterEvery time she fell I caught herEvery time she fell
We love you VERY much Morgan, and we’re VERY proud to be your Mom and Dad. Just come home to visit. A lot. Please?
* I wrote this ten months ago, and I'm thrilled that my little girl is moving back to south Orange County! As graduation season is fast upon us, I know that others are experiencing what Julie and I experienced last year. Please feel free to post your thoughts!
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