Roots and Wings

In the blink of an eye. This phrase is defined as: “So quickly as to seem almost imperceptible (i.e., in the space of time it takes a person to blink); happening or done very quickly, as in It was all over in the blink of an eye.” With that definition to guide me, I can confidently say that the last 17 years, 48 weeks, and 3 days have passed in the blink of an eye.

My daughters start the school year tomorrow. The younger one is a freshman; the older one is a senior.

My babies are almost grown up. I am so proud of the amazing people these girls have become. They are strong and intelligent and talented and kind and confident. I sometimes look at them in disbelief because they are so sure of themselves – more confident than I ever was at that age. I know that they are going to change the world.

I also cannot help but be a bit sad. Last week, I received the following email from the school:

SENIORS:

Join us to kick off SENIOR YEAR at Island Beach! Bring a blanket or a chair, enjoy some breakfast under the pavilion and watch the sunrise with your friends to celebrate your last first day of school.

Yep. It was those last six words that did it. Tomorrow is the last time my older daughter will have a first day of school. After reading that email, it was hard for me even to breathe. And then the tears came.

Soon, I will join the ranks of generations of parents before me. I will confront the knowledge that no matter how close my daughter and I are now, her life will start to diverge from mine, and I will gradually know her less.

Intellectually, I know I will get over it, just as the parents who came before me did. I know this is just the natural cadence of life. Yet, I cannot help but dread that in just another blink of an eye, it will be August 2023, and I will no longer see that big smile that lights up a room (and my heart!) every day.

I find comfort in this shared experience and know I am not alone. I have a dear friend who has similar feelings. We met twelve years ago on our girls’ first day of kindergarten. She explained it like this: “I am dreading this year. Mostly because it is . . . senior year. Too many lasts. I am already teary. I don’t want her to leave. Logically I know that I’ve done everything for her to get her to this point and it is amazing to watch . . .I won’t show her, but my heart is breaking.”

These bittersweet words brought me back to where I started: proud and amazed. And incredulous at how quickly the time has passed.

My friend’s words also made me think of a quote by Jonas Salk that I had heard years ago but never fully understood until now: “[P]arents give their children roots and wings. Roots to know where home is, wings to fly away and exercise what’s been taught them.”

When I blinked my eye, you grew roots and wings, my beautiful girl. I cannot wait to see how high you soar.