One Mom Magazine Letters
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A Letter to My College-Bound Daughter
By Dana Holahan
My sweetness,
You are getting ready to fly off on your own! You’ll have to pardon the metaphor - it’s a good one, timeless even, that gives me just the right picture in my head of what you’re about to do. It’s not that you haven’t already been flying. In fact, you’ve been practicing so much. Building up your wing muscles. Preening your feathers. Getting rid of the fuzz. Honing your vision.
But this flight you’re preparing for now is different because I won’t always be there when you land. In fact, oftentimes, I’ll be far away. And yet, I know you’re ready. We have both been preparing for this moment for a long time. I can’t pretend that it will be easy for me. I feel like a piece of my heart is being ripped out of my chest. But this is what I signed up for as a mother. This is me, working myself out of a job. Of course, not completely. I’m not resigning. No way, José. But man, my job description is changing. And since it’s just been the two of us all these years, things are going to look and feel really different for both of us. It will be exciting, momentous, scary, lonely, overwhelming! Such a swirl of emotions. There will be new opportunities for both of us to rise to, along with challenges to overcome.
I remember your first days of school when you were four or five, bursting with the excitement of your new outfit, of meeting new people and learning new things, the hint of sadness at leaving the carefree summer behind. I remember when you ran to get everywhere and you’d climb everything that crossed your path–trees, lamp posts, walls, fences. You’ve always had a hunger for learning, voraciously reading books from a very young age, pushing yourself to take the hardest classes. You have always been so brave, so up for an adventure, so willing to participate in whatever life throws at you. I hope you carry that bravery with you, knowing that even from far away I’ve got your back, I’m cheering you on, and if you run into trouble, I’ll help you out in every way I’m able.
Thank you for indulging me in this little outburst. Exploring the feelings I’m having about this new stage in our lives is helping me prepare my heart and come to terms with the fact that this is what we’ve been working towards all along. This is what being a mother is all about; this is what growing up is all about. Thank you, also, for understanding that as a single mother, I’ve cared for you at my best and also at my worst. I’ve always endeavored to be my best self with you, but I have certainly failed many times. And you have consistently shown me grace and patience. As the daughter, and the only child, of a single mother and a father who lives abroad and isn’t really in the picture, your experience has been special and definitely different from that of most of your peers. At times, I imagine you felt like you were missing out on certain things because of your situation. I know I’ve felt that too–a longing to be like other families, or like an imaginary ideal that the others seem to inhabit. But really, I wouldn’t trade what we’ve had for anything in the world. We have a strong and special bond, and I’m confident we’ll be able to carry it into the new unknown realms we are soon to encounter.
You are so ready for what’s coming next, and I am so proud of you and I’m proud of the role I’ve played in getting you there. I may not be at your side anymore as your personal dictionary when you’re reading words that are new to you, but you can text me at any time. Also: “look it up!” I might not be getting a high five and the exclamation “Another win for chef mom!” after every tasty daughter-approved dinner I make, but I feel secure in your culinary abilities and I’m sure you’ll knock the socks off of anyone for whom you prepare a meal. I’m sure we will both miss our regular traditions, like cuddling on lazy mornings, walking with the dog to the bus at the break of dawn, going out for dinner after your Thursday music lessons, taking trips to the library, baking cookies, loading the dishwasher, etc. But let’s take some of those traditions and turn them into rituals. Let's make it a point to continue doing the things we love doing together, even if it isn’t nearly as frequently. Let’s commit to reaching out when something reminds us of the other. Let’s keep sending each other memes (actually, I think I’m the only one who does that).
Please know that there’s always room for you in this nest (see how I brought the metaphor full circle?), just like there will always be room for you in my heart. I will always be your mother; I’m just not totally sure what that will look like in a couple of months. Since being your mother has been such a huge part of my identity for the past 18 years, I’m nervous and expectant about how this shift is going to feel. But I feel secure in our bond and our commitment to each other, and I know that, in our own ways, we will work to keep them strong.
Now fly off, sweet one, beyond the horizon. I can’t wait to hear about all the vistas you take in and the adventures you encounter.
Love,
Mom
By Dana Holahan
My sweetness,
You are getting ready to fly off on your own! You’ll have to pardon the metaphor - it’s a good one, timeless even, that gives me just the right picture in my head of what you’re about to do. It’s not that you haven’t already been flying. In fact, you’ve been practicing so much. Building up your wing muscles. Preening your feathers. Getting rid of the fuzz. Honing your vision.
But this flight you’re preparing for now is different because I won’t always be there when you land. In fact, oftentimes, I’ll be far away. And yet, I know you’re ready. We have both been preparing for this moment for a long time. I can’t pretend that it will be easy for me. I feel like a piece of my heart is being ripped out of my chest. But this is what I signed up for as a mother. This is me, working myself out of a job. Of course, not completely. I’m not resigning. No way, José. But man, my job description is changing. And since it’s just been the two of us all these years, things are going to look and feel really different for both of us. It will be exciting, momentous, scary, lonely, overwhelming! Such a swirl of emotions. There will be new opportunities for both of us to rise to, along with challenges to overcome.
I remember your first days of school when you were four or five, bursting with the excitement of your new outfit, of meeting new people and learning new things, the hint of sadness at leaving the carefree summer behind. I remember when you ran to get everywhere and you’d climb everything that crossed your path–trees, lamp posts, walls, fences. You’ve always had a hunger for learning, voraciously reading books from a very young age, pushing yourself to take the hardest classes. You have always been so brave, so up for an adventure, so willing to participate in whatever life throws at you. I hope you carry that bravery with you, knowing that even from far away I’ve got your back, I’m cheering you on, and if you run into trouble, I’ll help you out in every way I’m able.
Thank you for indulging me in this little outburst. Exploring the feelings I’m having about this new stage in our lives is helping me prepare my heart and come to terms with the fact that this is what we’ve been working towards all along. This is what being a mother is all about; this is what growing up is all about. Thank you, also, for understanding that as a single mother, I’ve cared for you at my best and also at my worst. I’ve always endeavored to be my best self with you, but I have certainly failed many times. And you have consistently shown me grace and patience. As the daughter, and the only child, of a single mother and a father who lives abroad and isn’t really in the picture, your experience has been special and definitely different from that of most of your peers. At times, I imagine you felt like you were missing out on certain things because of your situation. I know I’ve felt that too–a longing to be like other families, or like an imaginary ideal that the others seem to inhabit. But really, I wouldn’t trade what we’ve had for anything in the world. We have a strong and special bond, and I’m confident we’ll be able to carry it into the new unknown realms we are soon to encounter.
You are so ready for what’s coming next, and I am so proud of you and I’m proud of the role I’ve played in getting you there. I may not be at your side anymore as your personal dictionary when you’re reading words that are new to you, but you can text me at any time. Also: “look it up!” I might not be getting a high five and the exclamation “Another win for chef mom!” after every tasty daughter-approved dinner I make, but I feel secure in your culinary abilities and I’m sure you’ll knock the socks off of anyone for whom you prepare a meal. I’m sure we will both miss our regular traditions, like cuddling on lazy mornings, walking with the dog to the bus at the break of dawn, going out for dinner after your Thursday music lessons, taking trips to the library, baking cookies, loading the dishwasher, etc. But let’s take some of those traditions and turn them into rituals. Let's make it a point to continue doing the things we love doing together, even if it isn’t nearly as frequently. Let’s commit to reaching out when something reminds us of the other. Let’s keep sending each other memes (actually, I think I’m the only one who does that).
Please know that there’s always room for you in this nest (see how I brought the metaphor full circle?), just like there will always be room for you in my heart. I will always be your mother; I’m just not totally sure what that will look like in a couple of months. Since being your mother has been such a huge part of my identity for the past 18 years, I’m nervous and expectant about how this shift is going to feel. But I feel secure in our bond and our commitment to each other, and I know that, in our own ways, we will work to keep them strong.
Now fly off, sweet one, beyond the horizon. I can’t wait to hear about all the vistas you take in and the adventures you encounter.
Love,
Mom
