Remembering the Teenager

Memories of daughter who has moved out of the house and has gone on to college

One day, while lying on the floor, strategically placing boxes under the bed in my daughter’s old bedroom, I rolled onto my back and glanced around a room that had once bustled with the life of a teenager. 

I so clearly remember my daughter’s senior year in high school. 

Anxiety ran high as she stressed over SAT scores, college essays and prom dresses. 

My anxiety, however, was truly unexpected.

My daughter was a good student, so I wasn’t terribly worried about her ability to get into a good college. And I wasn’t concerned over her chances of locating an escort for the prom.  Instead, my anxiety grew from deep within, and with each passing day it grew deeper still. 

My stress stemmed from the realization that I was out of time with my little girl. 

Here she was, almost grown and out the door, and I was lamenting all of the things I had never done with her. 

I wanted to take her to exotic places, expose her mind to different sides of life. 

I wanted to teach her all of my favorite recipes. 

I wanted to have deep discussions of things only women would understand. 

But, unfortunately, her attentions were now elsewhere.

I was just an annoyance and she was an equal pain. 

I found myself mourning the loss of a passage of time that I, in my haste of making beds and packing lunches for my family of five, had misplaced. 

I had managed to let her slip through the cracks.

I tried to sit her down one day and tell her how sorry I was.  I shared with her that I felt, in my heart, her childhood had suffered some kind of irreparable damage because of my neglect. 

She assured me, accompanied by a dramatic roll of her eyes that I had made her childhood a happy one and she was satisfied.

I wasn’t satisfied though. 

I wanted more, and now I had to let go of this beautiful creature that had blossomed amongst the debris of our household. 

She was ready to go, and I was hanging on to her like a lifeline. 

I felt like a snoozing passenger on a train who had almost slept past his destination.

But she’s gone now. 

Only boxes filled with mementoes and out-dated clothes remain behind. Her life at college dominates our conversations, and references to her childhood grow less and less. 

I have since found a new focus for my remaining brood and have tried to carve out an identity for myself. Despite the fact that my daughter is happy and adjusted and well on her way to a successful life, I still feel I could have done more for her while she was “mine.” 

But time seemed forever back then. 

Perhaps one day when I am very old and preparing to go to that great beyond, she’ll understand my angst. Perhaps then she’ll feel she ran out of time with me. 

But like her, I will knowingly roll my eyes and say:

“You made me very happy and I am satisfied.”

 

Author's Note

Any feedback welcomed. This was a serious piece whereas most of my stuff is family humor. Ironically, it was this piece that won me a columnist spot in my local paper.