I drive her
to her friend’s house for her first sleepover.
She slams
the car door and runs to her friend without looking back, giggling as they
disappear inside the house.
Thirteen
years,
thirteen
years of painstaking love, care, joy, worry, and fear,
thirteen
years of wanting to protect her from everything; illness, elements of weather,
sadness, disappointment..
The fences I
built around her, foolishly imagining I had control.
Where did
the baby that fit perfectly in the crook of my arm go?
I can
sometimes see the woman, elbowing her way out of the girl;
a hateful
angry stare when I’m being too controlling,
then the
child, I love you mommy, once more.
Soon, she’ll
be gone for good; for college, work, or love.
The endless
photo albums I’ve collected over the years, my only treasure.
Nobody told
me, when they tore her from my flesh thirteen years ago, that I am the
discarded chrysalis,
nobody told
me that this will be the longest, slowest, and most devastating break-up.
What makes a
mother?
The knowing
of when to embrace, and when to let go.
