Departure
What we say when we have to let them go
She grabbed my hand as we watched the elevator doors close. My mini-me. Blonde to my brunette, and two inches shorter, but with the same blue eyes and little nose, she still seems so young. Yet when I was her age, I found myself hitchhiking with Dimitri through Moscow at midnight.
She can do this. But does she know that?
I turned to her, ignoring the pilot in the corner sporting a patriotic tie and checking his phone. Looking her straight in the eye, and with an even tone, I gave her my last few words of advice before she boarded the plane and set off across the Atlantic.
You can do this.
Pay attention and trust your instincts.
Not everything is going to go according to plan, and that is okay.
You can figure it out.
You are smart.
She responded with trust—“Okay.”
As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, we both took a deep breath and headed to the gate. Stepping over the threshold and onto the shiny floor, the pilot spoke up.
“That is the best advice I have ever heard.” I smiled my thanks, and we rolled toward security for our final goodbye hug and a tearful prayer. As I watched her navigate the line, I found myself noiselessly repeating the advice like a mantra with one addition.
She can do this. She is going to be okay. She will pay attention and figure things out because she is smart. I am leaving her in God’s protection and care.
For all you parents sending little ones to summer camps, or grandma’s house, or across the world, my heart is with you and my prayers are for you.
God, please watch over all of our children, draw them closer to you in every struggle, and with each adventure let them see your goodness and love.
❤️ Mary Ruth