Today I watched my second daughter drive away. She drives away each day to work and for activities and to meet with her friends. But today I watched her drive away to move into her new apartment. I helped her pack her car, the trailer, and the truck. I carried boxes, hampers, tables, chairs.
I carried memories and dreams and placed them in the trunk of her car. I packed them tightly so they didn't slide or break. As I did these things I fought back tears. This is my second daughter to fly. My first flew a year ago. I am so torn. So conflicted.
I have guarded my nest. But you must understand, I want my daughters to fly. I want them to spread their wings and stretch and soar upwards. I hope their wings catch the air currents and they glide and rise. I have wanted this for them since the moment they were born. I long to see them airborn--defying gravity and the ties of this earth. Both my older girls have been flying for a while now. I have held my breath. It has tightened my chest. And yet when they dip and fall and wend their way through the clouds I am filled with such a strong sense of "rightness". And as they rise my heart goes with them.
After the truck and trailer left, my daughter called me on my cell phone. She told me she loved me and she thanked me. Later my first daughter called to see I was okay. I said yes and she teasingly called me a "liar". I laughed through the tears and with much more honesty said, "I will be." And I will.
My flying daughters. My beautiful, beautiful birds. I still have two in the nest. There are still flying lessons to give.