Droping My Daughter Off for College, Er, Boot Camp

My nineteen-year-old daughter, Vicky, was floundering and she knew it. We'd had a bumpy relationship throughout her teens and graduation from high school did little to improve it. She chose to leave home the summer following graduation and given the strain between us, her choice provided some relief to both of us. I did not approve of the way she handled it but in retrospect I doubt I would have approved of any method of separation.

She spent the next year staying with relatives or friends before finding a place of her own. Employment seemed optional as she went through periods of not working, to working part time and then back to not working. Even when she was working, she was not fulfilled. Her life had no direction.

Somehow, through all of this, I was okay. Even though she wasn't under my roof, she still called and visited. I saw or heard from her all the time. I could get to her if I needed to. Then she dropped the bomb. She had decided to enlist in the Air Force to help her find direction. She would avail herself of the college benefits while learning to be more self-disciplined.

My husband Dave and I were stunned. We chalked it up to more of her sometimes flighty behavior but this had significant repercussions. Yet somehow the plans proceeded. She took the tests and was given a departure date ten weeks away. She asked to move back home until her date arrived. She needed to clean up her affairs and wanted to spend some time with us before she had to leave.

So she came home. And it was like a summer vacation. We stayed up watching movies and favorite tv shows. She helped with chores and went to work with Dave on his construction job to earn some spending money. We talked about all kinds of things, slowly putting a bandage on our wounded relationship.

The date drew near and our conversations turned more serious. She was trying to stay focused and psychologically gearing up for the next phase of her life. She had never been overly athletic and had suffered some injuries and health problems growing up that were going to make the physical training a real challenge. We talked about it and she was eager to face the challenge. Being so far away from home, with no one she knew to lean on was secretly the thing that worried each of us. It was not discussed. Neither of us wanted to open that Pandora 's Box.

She left around Thanksgiving time. We had a small family celebration that was part Christmas, part Thanksgiving. I squeezed in some her favorite foods. Who knew how long it might be until she would have them again. We exchanged gifts she couldn't immediately take with her. Everyone had their chance to say good bye and wish her well.

Then the fateful morning came. I was to drive her to the recruiter's office. He would be driving several new enlistees to the airport 2.5 hours away together. My thoughts raced like a snowball rolling down a mountain, slowly at first then building speed and splintering off in thousands of directions before impacting at the bottom. My baby girl was finally leaving , stepping off in the adult world in huge way. She would face things she's never imagined, live in places unknown with people new and perhaps unfriendly. And when she hurt or ached, I could not comfort her. For the first weeks of basic training, I could not even speak to her on the phone. I would have no of knowing if she was okay. For a mother, this is the most terrifying thought of all.

Yet my entire role as a mother led to this moment, to letting go. I took my cues from her. She was steeling herself to get out of our car and walk away into a world where she could rely on only herself and whatever nuggets of wisdom I had been able to impart. So I stayed quiet. We spoke very little. As we drew near, I asked if she wanted me to go inside with her. She did not. There would be men there, tough men, preparing to leave for military training. She was afraid that if we said our final goodbyes inside, we would break down into tears and she would start her military career off being seen as an emotional female. So we had to do it in the car. She asked me not to cry and I felt fine, just fine, strong.

We hugged, went over her plans and confirmed when she would be able to call me. We hugged again and she got out. I sat there only a moment to watch her walk in her bag slung over her shoulder. She never looked back. She couldn't allow herself the luxury.

Pulling away, I began to hear a strange beating noise. I merged into traffic but could not remember doing so. The beating grew louder, more fierce. Minutes passed, the streets went by and the pounding climaxed with a gasp as I drew in the breath of realization. She was gone, beyond my reach anymore. I had to pull over as the tears spilled out. I couldn't see to drive. I opened my mouth to sob but no noise came out. The pounding came from my heart and it resounded as though an empty steel drum were being beat, each strike sending a shock wave of pain through me. I had heard the term " left a hole in my heart" but I had never experienced it until that moment.

I sat there crying, silent sobs too painful to make a sound lest they injure anyone who might hear them. It was a shock to realize it could hurt so much to let go. I had always known the day would come. I had done my best to prepare her to face the world alone. I just hadn't prepared myself.

Eventually I was able to drive home. More tears were shed along the way but I was able to drive. My agony was assuaged two days later when the enlistees were allowed to make a two-minute phone call. I could barely understand her through her sobs. She babbled a few sentences about what she had been doing but mostly the dialogue was littered with I-love-you's and she ended by telling me I was the best mom in the world and she was sorry she had taken me for granted for so long. In that moment I felt a turning point and knew our relationship would continue to grow and thrive. I will forever be grateful to the US Air Force for that gift.