My Baby’s going to College!
Letter to my daughter
My precious Lanessa,
I was 43 when you came. People thought we were crazy, and some told us so. They were right, but not in the ways they imagined. We were crazy-in-love with you, our beautiful newborn daughter. You grabbed our hearts from the beginning.
We already had your six siblings, each one, “one,” unique and special. Each of your 5 brothers and only sister took turns cuddling you, falling in love with you even then.You found your place of belonging in our midst, and always will. You were wanted and loved from the start.
I did not comprehend how all 6 pounds 10 ounces of YOU would transform our world, re-define parenting, tighten the sibling bond, enlarge our friendships, and color our world. I partially understood the “work” of having another child—more laundry, more diapers, more sleepless nights, more demands on money and time, more schedules to maneuver, more responsibility, and the list goes on. I had an even greater understanding of the joy that could come—the awakening again of a new love, a child to hold to my heart forever. I remember thinking “I’ll be 61 when you graduate from high school.” It seemed so far away. How did it pass so quickly? I had NO concept of how fast the day would come when you’d be leaving “home.”
I will miss you!
18 years ago you crawled at my feet, following me wherever I went. I would bend down to your outstretched arms, pick you up and hold you close. You cried if I stepped out of sight and reached for me when I returned.
You’re the one leaving this time, and it is now my time for tears to flow, though still I smile. I will smile even more when you’re back in sight, when you return, when you come “home.” I will run for you and hug you close. You are forever cherished and loved.
Would I want it any other way? Would I want to keep you “home?” Though I’d like to capture the fleeting moments, re-live the joys of yesteryear, it’s time for you to go, to spread your wings and fly. You dream big. You dream of a vast future overflowing with love, joy, peace, beauty, and music of the soul.
As I reflect on these past years, I think of dreams I held, plans that never materialized, ideas and events that never happened. As your mother, I think of things I wish I’d done differently, or better. You’ve forgiven me for mistakes along the way, and I’m grateful for the largeness of your heart. I contemplate the things I didn’t do with you, the places we didn’t go, the people we didn’t meet, the untraveled paths that may have enriched your life in ways we’ll never know. In the busyness of making it through the days, the weeks and years passed.
At the same time I ponder the things we did, and we did a lot. Not often the “big” things, but a thousand small things. Ordinary stuff that maybe isn’t so ordinary. Day to day routines and rituals that glued us together—eating home cooked meals, tucking you in at night, driving you to music lessons, listening to you practice, worshiping together, celebrating holidays, knowing your friends, cleaning the kitchen and washing the car, walking the beach, hearing your laughter and wiping your tears.
We’ve packed in a lot these past weeks. I’ve been on a frantic pace to steal every moment I can with you. Last weekend it was a long drive to the amphitheater in the Gorge for the Jack Johnson concert. A few days ago it was a trip to the orthodontist and shopping for “wheels”—a bicycle to get around wherever you need to go. Today it was church and family and pictures and goodbyes. Tomorrow we’ll begin our 17-hour drive to CalArts. I will savor each moment. The car’s packed. It’s nearly brimming over with the makings for a dorm room, a bicycle and cello and dreams for tomorrow. We’ll leave together, and I’ll return alone.
It will be a hard good-bye.
I’m scared for you. I know too well there’s a cruel world out there. I know life can knock your socks off and leave you reeling. I know life’s hard. I long to protect you from the horrors that nightmares are made of. I want to keep you safe. I want you to keep believing dreams come true. I want you to keep your innocence and trust the world to be a kind place. If only I could!
At the same time, I’m beyond excited for you. In a great paradox, I know the world to be warm and wonderful, a safe and good place. You will make loyal friends. You will meet people who care, people who will mentor you in the dreams you dream, people who will push you to your limits, see your potential and not let up. People who will believe in you when you doubt yourself. You will have opportunities and options. You will soar.
I will not hold you back (though I’ve got your back!). I will do all in my power to support and encourage you. I know you’ve prepared for this day. I know you’re ready, and I know you’ll thrive no matter what.
Some say they “send off” their children when they get to your age. When I hear this, I picture a countdown beginning, just before the child rockets into an unknown universe at an accelerating burst of speed and power. Bystanders watch in awe-inspired silence, just before high-fiving each other and bursting into applause.
Though there’s elements of this picture I resonate with, for me it’s more like a “send-on”—on to the life you imagine, an unlimited world ready to be discovered and savored. The send-on that isn’t a countdown at all, but a count-up, as we count the precious memories of the past, count your dreams for tomorrow, and count what you do best—living with lavish wonder and delight, truth, beauty, care, kindness, music and laughter, and mostly, enormous love. These are the things that fuel your send-on and will propel you forward. I’ll be cheering you on!
I’m not big on giving advice, or telling you what you “should” do. When you were little, if I demanded you hold my hand and grabbed for yours when we crossed a busy street, you’d resist. If instead I asked to hold yours, you’d eagerly reach for mine and we’d cross safely. Though there were situations when direct commands were appropriate and necessary, I discovered early that you have the ability and good sense to make smart decisions, especially when you are empowered with knowledge and get to do the choosing. You’ve had 18 years to practice. I pray you have a long and joyful lifetime to keep practicing. (I’ve had 61 years to practice, and I still don’t have it all down!)
What if I’ve missed important “stuff” you need to know! Do I trust you? (Yes!) How do I not worry? (Yikes!) You’ve never lived 965 miles away. You’ve never had a roommate. You’ve never lived “on your own.” You’ve never been as independent as you’ll now be. You’ve lived a safe and sheltered life. What’s next?
Here’s a few tips. Maybe you’ll find something useful. And you will surely add to it!
1. Make mistakes. You don’t have to be perfect. That’s how we all learn.
a. If it hurts mind, body, or relationships, DON’T! (No-brainer).
2. Say “Yes” and “No” with conviction.
3. Get places early. “You never have to apologize for being early.”
4. Sleep. Go to bed! You’ll sing better.
5. Eat healthy. Fruits and veggies.
6. Drink water. Lots.
7. Hang up your towel.
8. Make your bed.
9. Know your your new “family” by name and listen to their stories
10. Keep informed with what’s going on in the larger world.
11. Keep in touch with your smaller world—call, mass text, shout, whatever, however—
remember the “others” in your life who love you. Set a scheduled reminder if it helps.
a. Me. Daddy, too!
b. Brothers, sister, in-laws, nieces and nephew, aunts, uncles
c. Friends afar
12. Keep your phone charged! (Plug in every night).
13. Check your phone messages regularly—texts and voice mail.
14. Thank others often—anyone who makes your world a better place. Verbally, in
writing, song, or whatever way you come up with—make gratitude an art!
15. Acknowledge and encourage the creative ability of others.
15. If your roommate’s sleeping, don’t talk on the phone.
16. Participate in a community of Faith—intentionally, regularly, and in keeping with YOUR
convictions.
17. Think clearly, feel passionately, choose wisely (duh!)
18. Set goals and make a plan.
19. Ask questions.
20. Ask for help.
21. Offer help.
22. Treat others like you’d want to be treated yourself if you were them.
23. Remember the Sabbath—worship,rest and rejuvenate!
24. Use who YOU are—your unique creative ability.
25. Don’t drink from an open container someone hands you, ever.
26. Balance your checking account
27. Know what to do if the earth quakes.
28. Go running with someone—don’t go alone. Be aware of your surroundings.
29. Love God, love others, with heart, soul, and mind.
30. Have FUN!
OK, maybe I got a little carried away (Though I could say more!).
All this simply says, “I love you.”
Daddy and I chuckle as we reminisce about your childhood tantrums over perceived injustices (no laughing matter then!). If I picked you up to restrain you from flailing on the floor and held you too tightly, you screamed. If I put you down, you kicked harder and screamed even louder. When I held you loosely in a soft embrace, whispering quietly, you calmed and settled in my arms. Not too tight. Not too loose. Freedom to move within safe confines of human arms and your mother's heart.
You’ll soon be at CalArts, a place committed to nurturing your creativity, to growing your abilities, to enlarging your vision, to fostering imagination and realizing possibility. And I pray CalArts will be a safe place to move freely within the arms of a shared humanity. I pray for you to remember your past as you move to your amazing future.
You go, Girl!
Always, forever, with my prayers and love,
your Mama xoxo
POSTSCRIPT:
I wrote this mostly last Sabbath, before we left Tillamook on Sunday morning. A trip I'll always remember. Now we’re here, and I’ll soon be leaving. You’ve already found a “home.” I’m warmed by the welcome and impressed with the care. CalArts “fits” and I couldn’t be happier for you. I see your eyes sparkle and hear your excitement. Yay!
See you soon.
Mama xoxo
