As my daughter prepares to leave for college, she wavers between excitement about the new life she is starting and the old one she is ending—in particular the romantic relationship coming to a close. Smart enough to know better than to pursue a four month-old relationship bi-coastally as they both enter their freshman years in college, she still mourns the fact that she has to leave behind the best relationship she’s ever had as well as her best friend.
And I weep with her. Her pain is mine. And I can’t take this one away. Unlike a skinned knee, fever or headache, I can’t make this better. I can tell her why I think she is making the right decision and how she will eventually learn to live with it—and how hopefully she will find someone else and create an even better loving relationship—but none of this makes her feel any better. The more she hurts, the more I hurt.
I remember her pain. I’ve felt it. I’ve lived it. It was long ago, but I remember well. I’d do anything to take it away. Yet, I wouldn’t have had her miss out on these four months, no matter how ill timed. Nor would she change that, give up that time, that experience.
So, I can only watch, listen, offer words of comfort and wisdom (knowing they help little), provide a shoulder upon which she can cry, and offer hugs when she wants them. And I can cry with her.
I can understand her anger. “I can yell at God,” she says, as she admits her anger does no good.
I wonder, too, at the seemly cruel timing of the relationship, but I must believe God has a plan. I must believe God has a reason—a positive one at that. And I hope God’s hand will reach out and comfort her in the weeks and months ahead when I cannot and her boyfriend cannot. And may it be His will that she understand the reason for all of this sooner than later.
In the meantime, I suffer with her…a mother’s plight. And I try to help her see the positive, focus on the future, feel the excitement of all that lies ahead of her—her whole future.
