I put my daughter on a plane today. I knew the day was coming. But that didn't mean I was prepared for it.
It's inevitable, they grow up and they move on, and they stumble out into the real world. And you are left standing in the airport surrounded by people, feeling totally, utterly alone. I was so torn because I knew that it was right, she's supposed to move out, find her own way. But at the same time I wanted to grasp onto her with both hands and not let her out of my sight. But instead I watched through teary eyes as she made her way through TSA screening, hoping that I had done everything possible to prepare her for this next chapter.
My husband, son and I made our way home. The trek from Honolulu was unusually quiet. We were all a little lost. We texted Sydney, told her to look out the window as she took off. We'd be sitting on our beach, waving goodbye. When we got home we headed immediately out to the beach, being sure to avoid her now empty bedroom.
We settled out in the sand, the wind blowing hard, the sun shinning brightly. And then we saw it, her plane taxiing down the runway. And then it was up, floating skyward. Up, up. I raised my hand, and slowly began to wave, as she disappeared among the clouds.