(c) 2012 Christiana Lambert

(c) 2012 Christiana Lambert

Last week my husband and I helped our daughter move most of her possessions into the house where she will be living for this her “super” senior year.

She asked, “How many times have you moved me?”

He said, “Ten.”

Not that he’s counting or anything. Moving our daughter and all the “stuff” she surrounds herself with is not a trivial task. Thank goodness she realizes that—maybe not enough to get rid of some it—but she does know that we have gone the distance for her on this task.

Once we had loaded the vehicles, I felt an instant relief from having more space in our house. Then again, she herself hadn’t really left yet. She had another week of work here before she needed to return to her campus job. So yesterday I took her to lunch since I realized this was it—and so did she.

I understand that many of her peers have graduated already and that it’s only thanks to poor advising and scheduling in the department of her chosen major that she is not already done. (Though she has earned 122 credits, she has three classes and two semesters ahead of her—ugh. But that’s a topic for a whole different post . . .)

Her freshman year was spent so far away from us—we were used to her being gone. But a transfer to a closer campus that does not quite suit her brought us in closer and more frequent contact. To say that she never got her groove going at her current university is an understatement—she was much better suited for the laidback, small college she formerly attended than for a large state university. She had valid reasons to transfer but, still, did not realize just how different the experience would be. Nonetheless, after some point, it just made sense to commit to finish where she is now.

This has been a summer of healing for her and she is returning healthier than she has been for a few years. I want her to know that it is not too late to experience joy in this somewhat forced “super” senior year. There is still time to reclaim much of what is good about being in college, even if she will need to find outside work, too.

I hope I don’t see as much of her this year—I really don’t. Not because I don’t love her, but because it’s long past time for her to come out of the cocoon of the past few years and claim her wings—both for now and for what lies beyond college.

It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going, what lies ahead, we have no way of knowing . . .

Still I was a little sad to see her go one more time before she takes flight from us for good. And, just like that she was back in that college time zone where it makes sense to forget to text your parents a reply until they’ve long since gone to bed—and that’s OK. Glad she’s back on her way enough to forget what time it is. Oh no, I haven’t forgotten—it’s time for her to move on.

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