After Hannah's high school graduation, reality crept in. We
felt that she had made the right choice, but this change was
going to be hard for all of us. The excitement of dorm room
decorating was fading. We began to realize that life was
never going to be the same.
The early stages of the impending departure had begun
and felt like a slow tear. I saw it in her face and felt it inside.
My nights were long, and her struggle with leaving made it
harder. I think that for her it wasn't just leaving home or us; it
was leaving everything she had known for as far back as she
could remember. It was leaving her friends, and particularly
her best friend, knowing that they would now have very dif-
ferent lives for the first time since kindergarten. It was leaving
her church, the families she babysat, and her adult mentors.
She was anxious to move forward, fearful of not being able
to go back, and yet not desiring to go back. No choice but to
move on, and in the process there was inevitable loss.
Moving day came with long good-byes to her friends and
brother and sister; the ten-hour drive was torturous. She read
and slept, distancing herself from us. While enduring the
distress she shut me out, and I couldn't provide relief. Her
dad and I stayed only a few days in her new college town
and tried to get her settled. She had trouble with the campus
website connection at first, and this agitated her horribly until
she was connected and, with Facebook, in contact again
with her friends. Having access to them was vital.
Our last good-bye was intentionally quick. Hannah's face
was stoic, and she smiled with determination. I was not quite
so brave. The cords were continuing to rip slowly. I was be-
ing forced against my will to leave my baby in a completely
strange world, separated by mountains, valleys, rivers, and
long highways, leaving her where I couldn't watch her live
life as I am so used to doing. I have been on the observation
deck all her life. Now the observation deck's location has
changed, and the view is not going to be as good.
I don't like losing control. The number of decisions she will
make on her own now has exponentially exploded. Less
power means that more trust will be required of me. She is
so very sure of her perspective and knowledge of all aspects
of life. Her ideas are her own; her plans are made quickly,
accurately, and decisively.
My hope is that as she pulls away from us she is growing
nearer to God, that her independence from us coincides with
an increased dependence upon God. Perhaps it's a bit like
the story of Jesus when, at twelve years old, he separated
himself from his parents and stayed behind in Jerusalem at
the synagogue, speaking with the rabbis. When his parents
finally found him, his response was "Why were you searching
for me? Didn't you know I had to be in my Father's house?"
(Luke 2:49). He was preparing for God's calling on his life.
The Bible text shows Mary's frustration with not being able to
find her son and her struggle with his independence: "Son,
why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have
been anxiously searching for you" (Luke 2:48).
At that same age of twelve, my own children began to ques-
tion family values and traditions for the first time. They were
not looking to me to answer their every inquiry, as when they