Lesson in leaving
A week ago Sunday Daughter #2 left home. Well, not exactly, but it sure seemed like it. She left for a mission education tour and will return today (Wednesday), 10 days after she cleaned her room, made her bed, shut off her computer, and turned off the stereo.
Her dad and I loaded up a suitcase, pillow, sleeping bag, and backpack and took her to Wichita to meet up with about 40 other 15- to 22-year-old girls for a trip through the Southwest. She was the only one from this area and didn't know a soul when we arrived at the church.
Needless to say, I was worried she might get cold feet and I wondered how I would talk her into staying. I was ready to say all the right things, like this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a chance to meet new friends, see new country, learn about different social structures, blah, blah, blah.
I envisioned tears (hers, not mine) and struggling to the door with her arms wrapped around my waist.
I should have worried more about how I was going to fill my time after she left. Following a brief orientation, the organizers said "say your good-byes." I got a distracted hug, kiss, "I love you," and practically was booted out the door before I could recite the usual litany of last-minute "mom remarks."
As we left the parking lot, I kept my eye on the door of the church, thinking I might see Daughter #2 running along behind the car.
When she was little she would chase my car when I left for work, crying, "Mommy, I will miss you. Take me with you." Funny how time changes things — now I'm the one counting the hours till she gets home.
— DONNA BERNHARDT
