From Daddy’s Little Girl, 2008
Meagan’s displays of affection are not all that have changed over the years. There was a time when she needed me for everything. I taught her how to tie her shoes, buckle her seatbelt, and use the microwave oven. Soon she wanted me to show her how to make her own scrambled eggs and shuffle a deck of cards, and eventually drive a car.
As she mastered these tasks and continued to grow up, becoming more independent and less willing to turn to me for what she wanted or needed, I knew the worst was yet to come. I braced myself for when she would no longer kiss me on the lips or allow me to accompany her to a doctor visit.
I had been her facilitator and protector, doing all the things she couldn’t do for herself and training her for independence by gradually giving her more freedom but not before issuing appropriate warnings. That, too, was a time limited role and soon I was admonished for not trusting her. One day she asked, rather, demanded of me, “Don’t you want to see if I’ve learned anything from you?” I really had no choice but to shut my mouth, say a little prayer and take a somewhat reluctant step backward.
Just a few days later I took her to the airport for her first solo flight. Along the way we talked about her turning eighteen soon and becoming eligible to vote and give blood, two experiences she had looked forward to for years.
Once at the airport I got her bag out of the car and sent her off to check herself in, a task she was determined to do on her own. We hugged and said good-bye, and she headed into the airport terminal.
The temptation to follow her was great, but I kept my feet firmly planted and watched only until she looked over her shoulder to wave good-bye one last time. I got in my car and drove off, confident she was checking herself in and finding her way toward the security gates. I imagined her boarding the shuttle that would carry her to the departure gate, finding her seat and then loading her bag into the overhead compartment.
Twenty minutes away from the airport my phone rang; Meagan called to assure me all went well and she was safely onboard. I smiled, proud and, admittedly, a little relieved. She said, “I love you,” twice before hanging up, and I smiled again, only then more happily.
Letting go of my little girl is one of the most difficult, and yet at the same time, the most rewarding, things I’ve ever done.