100 Wednesdays

For the past eight years, I’ve woken Wednesdays knowing it was the day my daughter would be back home with me. Sharing custody of a child is hard on everyone, especially children. My concern about how it would impact her almost kept me from making one of the best decisions I’ve ever struggled to make. I couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day, not reading her stories, tucking her in every night, and being available whenever she needed me. In the picture above is an origami crane she made. She has been making them for years out of tiny scraps of paper. I find them everywhere. I know I will keep finding them long after she has moved away.

Last week she turned sixteen, and I still wake up happy on Wednesdays because she is coming home; back to me. Life on the days she isn’t with me feels incomplete and a little hollow. Weekends without her drag by, and even when I have lots of social engagements I still feel lonely for her. I go to her room, and open the curtains she’s left closed against the morning light when she was last there. I pull up her messy covers and straighten things out as if she was still too little for me to expect her to do these things. I indulge her in ways I know I wouldn’t if she were with me every day.

 
On Sundays, I usually start planning what we’ll have for dinner Wednesday and wonder if we’ll watch an episode of The Gilmore Girls while we eat. Mondays I go to the grocery store to make sure I have food she’ll like. Tuesdays I clear all my papers that have accumulated on her side of the counter where we eat. No matter what else is happening, or the mood I’m in, my step is always lighter on Wednesdays.

 
I know she is just as happy to return to me, and I know living in two houses has been stressful for her. Where are all her long work-out pants, or the book she is reading? Often they are at the other house. I am impressed by her ability to move her life around in her backpack and maintain her equilibrium. I also know what it has cost her is not nearly what my staying would have cost us both. I would not have been able to be the parent I wanted to be and was able to become; my misery was exhausting and consumed me. It is not possible to be an attentive parent when weeping is part of your daily routine.

We have a little over 100 Wednesdays left before she leaves home essentially forever. It may seem like a lot, but to me, the thought is enough to bring me to tears. I want her to grow up and take on the world. I hope I have given her the tools she’ll need to navigate adulthood, and the knowledge she will always have a safe place to land should she need or want one. Still, a part of me is already mourning her departure; I want to stop time. I also want to make the most of the two years we have left, and like most teenagers, she has her own life, friends, and interests, which means less time for me.

 
Like so many things this is a balancing act. I want her to grow up, but I still want her to be the little girl who relies on me for advice. I’m excited to watch her develop passionate interests and plan her future as I try not to allow my own fears overshadow her confidence. A few years ago when I voiced my concern about her desire to please people and avoid conflict as a potential for her to get talked into something she really didn’t want to do she calmly told me “Mom, I’m nice, but I’m not stupid.” I repeat those words to myself when I start to fret. I take a step back and regard the young woman she is, and see she is a serious and thoughtful individual; intelligent and a little cautious, though she is fearless about things that terrify me. 

I’m proud to say she is someone I admire, and who teaches me to be a better person. I know that long after those 100 Wednesdays have passed, and she is out on her own we will stay connected because together we have built a relationship that can withstand what lies ahead. And I will continue finding cranes.