dinner, homework, and bedtime at 8:30. Yet Maury had made clear from the outset that this was an experience she was intent on managing herself. She had exhibited a fierce independence in choosing a college; now, whenever I pressed her about possible majors or ways to make new friends, she would remind me that her college years belonged to her — that I’d had mine already. It was a sensible position, but not one I could easily accept. I hated the fact that I would no longer know everything about her life.

Naturally, I expected to cry at our parting. What took me aback was Maury’s reaction. Alexa and her mother had drifted out to purchase textbooks, leaving the two of us alone in the little room. Finally, I turned to Maury and said, my voice choking, “Well, honey, I guess it’s time I got going.”

With a single, swift movement, Maury, long, dark hair billowing, buried her head in her pillow and sobbed. I wasn’t sure if she was crying out of fear of her new life or if a small part of her didn’t want to leave home after all. It scarcely mattered. I sat on the bed, took her in my arms, and held her tightly, just as
I’d done when she was an infant, until she cried herself out.

And suddenly, there it was again, as robust as ever: the mother daughter bond, the one I’d feared might break under the strain of the physical and emotional separation we now faced. Relief washed over me as I realized our bond was plenty strong enough to withstand the myriad uncertainties of what would happen next in her life, and in mine. When her sobs subsided and our breathing returned to normal, I gave her a last kiss, stood up, and walked out the door, overwhelmed with gratitude that my daughter had had the wisdom not to stray too far from home. CD

From Ladies’ Home Journal, LHJ.com, September 2004. © Meredith Corporation. Reprinted with permission of the author.