Monica

One of the joys and challenges in parenting three children is the uniqueness each brings to the family. I loved discovering all of the likes and dislikes of each of my newborn babies. As those babies grew, it was my joy to walk along side them in the activities and interests they each pursued. I think I know each of my children better than anyone knows them and maybe even a little better than they know themselves. I've been so attentive to who they are and who they were becoming their whole lives and all of that is emblazed in my mind. Though I do admit, as they approach their adult years, I find myself knowing less about their personal style but when it comes to the core of their personalities, I pretty much have that pegged.

Or so I thought.

Monica has always been our strong and brave child. As a young toddler, in the middle of the night she'd venture out into the darkness of our home in search of a cookie or a favorite toy. She was the only one of the three that didn't seek the comfort of Mom and Dad's bed during a storm or after a bad dream. She was such a sweet and adoring child and yet, had this rough exterior that kept most people at bay. In that oxymoron way Monica operates, she was a very loving child and very affectionate -- and yet, she kept the deepest places of heart locked up and guarded. It was a rare occasion even to see her cry.

I was less emotional taking this child off to college as I was the first because SHE was less emotional about going. In her usual way, she portrayed an armor of strength which made me feel more at ease. That's not to say, however; that I wasn't sad about her leaving. Monica has always been my partner --where I am, she is. Where I go, she goes. What I do, she does. I knew I was going to miss her presence tremendously but I worried less about her dealing with it.

The day we took Monica to Kent I woke up a bit confident with a sort of "been there, done that" attitude in my heart. Eh, we already took one daughter off to college - -this is a piece of cake! We felt more prepared in what she needed to bring and how to accomplish moving her into a 7th floor dorm room. We loaded up and we were off.

The move-in was much of what's to be expected and quite uneventful. As the day moved along though, my heart grew heavier in anticipation of that final good bye. When that time came, Monica walked us out to our van. She said good-bye to her Dad and he got into the van. She and I stood in front of our van for a long time. She would not leave. She got back into the van and said she was going back home with us. Every time I tried to say goodbye she would simply say, "No." I had to get out and pull her from our van. Again we stood there in silence and her eyes could not conceal the truth that she herself had no strength to build walls of an unwelcoming nature. Like a river, her every emotion, untainted and true, flowed freely from her expressions. It broke my heart.

As I stood there in the parking lot, it occurred to me I was receiving a very special gift. Monica, for the first time ever to me and probably the first time ever to anyone, was fully exposing her heart. As her guard was let down and all those fortresses crumbled, her heart seemed so raw to me. There she was so vulnerable and pure and I knew that I wanted to not only cherish the moment and linger it in but also to protect her and accept this honor of her fully trusting me with her soul.

And yet . . .

In those moments a mothering instinct kicked in that was far beyond me. I found myself reacting contrary to what I would have expected. There was no part of me that wanted to bring Monica back home. I wanted her to fly. I knew it was time. It was sad for me, no doubt, but it also just felt right. It took some lingering and convincing but Monica finally walked away from the van. As she headed towards her dorm I called out to her, "Flap your wings!"

I got back into the van and Jerry backed out of our parking space and we could see Monica walking away. He stopped the van and then in complete silence we just sat there watching her get further and further away - -until she disappeared back into the dorm. Jerry then slowly pulled away.

Driving away I suddenly remembered how much my children hated shots when they were younger and Monica! That child would throw an absolute fit. It usually took one nurse to hold her arms, me to hold her legs and another nurse to administer the injection. I hated doing that to her and I especially hated how pitiful she looked to me as if to say, "Mommy, why are you doing this to me?" But I knew I was doing what was good for her and though it was difficult to do at the time, it was a long lasting benefit to her health. I didn't like or enjoy it, but I did it because I loved her.

Leaving her at Kent felt somewhat like that -- having her to endure pain for a little while to reap long lasting benefits.

Its 2 months later now and mere words could not do justice to explain how much I miss Monica but in the silence of the dark nights, I hear the soft flutter of flapping wings.

And we're okay.