There she goes.
Dearest Lauren -
The first time I sensed a craving to meet your magnificent self, I was 25. Your father and I had been dating since my first year of university and were on the other side of the wobbliness of early love and immaturity and I could already feel you with us. Clear as day. And your name was always Lauren.
I had a whispered sense that you were to have a sibling, but could never see them the way I could see you. Thick and wavy-haired and a sparkler of a human. Compassionate, wise and hilarious.
It took you a while to grow into the hair and the humour I had pre-seen…but when you did, my Lord, did you ever. Like everything you do, you do with gusto.
The first time I experienced the tension between marvelling in your evolution and wanting things to stay exactly as they are was the first time I cried when putting on your “watch me grow”-emblazoned onesie–a gift from your grandmother. It was adorable and precious, and yet it bit at my heart.
The first time I experienced the sense of my heart being outside of me was your first day of Kindergarten. I came home and tumbled tearfully into the loving arms of the mother figure that was our neighbour Lynne.
And in each of those moments I’ve named, I imagined this day. “The heart-ripping day L leaves”, as the file that I started for this letter was called. I didn’t know if it would be heading into your dorm room like we’re doing today, or if you’d be moving into your first apartment, or into a friend’s place, or on a year-long solo adventure. I didn’t know the shapes, the details, the names and the places, but I knew it was coming. The slowest moving train that’s been steadily approaching for 18 years has finally arrived at the station.
Ready to take you on an extraordinary journey filled with the wonder and excitement of new quests, sights, and people.
The joy and pride and excitement and gratitude we feel on your behalf is immeasurable.
And also? The grief.
Listen. You KNOW I tried in vain to get ahead of the grief, but it came just the same. Because it’s like Staci said yesterday morning over our weekly coffee date: The moment you entered into our lives, you became the centre of our universe.
And as many well-intending friends keep reminding me, you’ll only be ten subway stops away. TEN. But you’re not going to be in this house every day like you have been for the past 18 years, and for that, I am straight up sad. For ME.
I will miss more than I can name. The idle chats and big opinions as we snuggle in to watch Glow Up or some other show your dad can’t be bothered with, your warm hand resting on my forearm where it’s rested since you were five. The little erasers here and the friendship bracelets there that hearken back to the days of your teeny tiny toys strewn about the house. The heart-to-hearts on the drives to school, and later, work. The twice yearly dental visits and follow-up drugstore run for chips (not sweets) as was our tradition. The casual “love you” tossed over your shoulder as you passed my office on your way out the door. The impromptu kitchen dance parties. The non-sequiturs. The way you’ve never been too old for the ice cream truck. The morning ‘fit check. The tickle on my nose from your aforementioned glorious hair when we hug. The lightness of your extraordinary energy that just makes every room you enter…better.
In French, “I miss you” is “tu me manques”.
Literally, “you are missing of me”.
It’s like that.
It’s very much and precisely and exactly like that.
You are missing of me.
But while I will miss your daily presence, I will never ever miss our love and connection. Because nothing about that will change.
This is YOUR time, Lauren Denise.
Your time for you to expand your mind and grow into the greatness of your potential. Your time to trust into yourself and your good decisions and your fathoms-deep heart. Your time to decide what you wish to take of us, and what to leave behind. Time for you to grow even beyond us.
We will be here cheering you on. Joyful that the world gets even more of you, magnificent you. Cracked open by the most astonishingly immense love that continues to take my breath away. Unendingly grateful you chose us to be your parents.
…the gift of a lifetime and the easiest gig ever.
Mama
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