Her days of childhood are complete, her future a sweep of endless possibilities, whereas I look back over the flood plain of swirling memories, in which she will forever dwell as my little girl. She and I, as is true for all the young and the aging, gaze in the direction offering the greatest vista. When young, the life which awaits stretches into a horizon of infinite possibilities, whereas with aging the horizon shrinks, leaving only the broad sea of memories upon which to draw comfort and strength. The infinite possibilities actually proved to be quite finite, indeed.
I find there are a few specific memories floating about in my inner sea which bubble up to the surface more often than others. So often now I see her as she was, a chattering dynamo who would come running, her chubby, sweet baby arms stretching ahead, ready to grab the first solid object she stumbled into - and how often that object would be me.
When older, she became less generous with her physical displays of affection, but when she rushed off the school bus and into the house, that loving, welcome relief at finding me there would still flash in her eyes, radiating her pleasure. "Mommy, I'm home!"
In a few short days, though a lifetime in the making, Katie will be an eighteen-year-old high school graduate. By most of our society's laws and standards, she will be considered an adult, deemed mature enough to handle adult privileges, assumed mature enough to accept the responsibility these privileges require. Is she ready? Probably not, but no less so than was I, or any of us, at this age.
When I look back on my eighteen-year-old self, I find she is only a faded, ghostly shadow. I had been very ill, spending much of the year at home in bed. Consequently I have few recollections of this time and those I have are not joyful. Possibly the illness wiped clean any exciting and memorable moments from my eighteenth year. Though, more likely, the monotony of being bed- and house-bound for so long provided nothing interesting enough to be worthy of committing to memory.
Even so, had I been a healthy eighteen-year-old, my daughter and I still would have shared little in common, for we each inhabited very different worlds. Though this has always been true for every passing generation, there is a far greater challenge in the world my daughter inherits. The world awaiting this class of graduates is a very dark and critically damaged, place; a very different place from that which opened its arms to welcome me, all those many years ago.
This is their world, though; one they know far more intimately than do we, their parents. In these offspring of ours dwells the spirit of optimism and the soul of idealists - the ammunition of youth with which they will do what they must to lay claim to the lives they've been promised, worked for and deserve. We have given them the tools and must now simply allow them to proceed as we step away, observing them in baffling wonder.
I know in my heart the day is near when my memories of Katie will include those in which I'm seen in her rearview mirror, waving goodbye as she drives away. Soon I will be the one filled with the thrill of her return, "Katie's home!" The joy radiating off my face every bit as bright as I remember shining on her face in her little girl days.
However, my joy will be tempered by the knowledge her presence is but a visit and will too soon come to an end. So has it been from the day of her birth, her time of life shared with me has always been on a temporary loan basis. As is so often the case with parents, I neglected to entertain this possibility until it became a reality.
A part of me feels my mothering job is nearing completion. Having set the concrete foundation upon which she will build the palace of her hopes and dreams, my influence in her life will be relegated to her own swirling sea of memories.
I know better, though. For no matter where she goes in her life, what she becomes, who she really is, I travel with her. When problems arise it is my voice she will hear calming her, offering suggestions, reminding her she can do whatever it takes, whatever she wants, whatever needs to be done.
This is the heritage we all provide our children, the heritage which was passed down to us by our own parents - our hearts, our souls, our knowledge and our trust. Katie will dwell in her own unique world, a world I will never know, and can not share. Utilizing the resources she has been provided throughout her past eighteen years, she will fashion the life which excites, challenges and best suits her.
The spirit necessary to spark her growth and prosperity is now in place. The wings upon which she will soar are the wings I taught her to use, and she has always been a brilliant student. They will not fail her now; nor will I.
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