PIXIE DUST

Just yesterday we were dancing at Mickey’s Philharmagic. Cruising Space Mountain. Shooting alien ships with Buzz. Little Sis was enthralled by Cinderella’s Castle, fireworks bursting over the lagoon, and a whole world of countries she could explore in a single afternoon. At the end of every ride, she’d stoop to the sparkling sidewalks of Main Street USA, trying to gather Tinkerbell’s magic pixie dust with her sticky, cotton-candied fingers.

We were a clan of six: trading Tigger and Pooh pins, journeying through Mission Space, clucking at cuckoo clocks in a tiny German shop, and posing with Pocahontas. Little Sis couldn’t decide which was more beautiful- the Tree of Life, or the flock of pink flamingos that gossiped and strutted behind it.

Trumpet in hand, she is now marching across Main Street USA with her High School Wind Ensemble. The thrill of the rides is no longer generated by wind in her face and fear in her gut, but by the knowledge of physics that makes each passenger a projectile. I wait for her texts, read joy and abandon in her words. Little Sis is off on a big adventure- with friends and band mates who have six more months to make music together. In six short months they will don caps and gowns, say goodbye, and set off on a much bigger adventure.

Soon she will be home; dancing in the kitchen, or tapping her pencil on a  dense textbook as she deconstructs Math. I try and remain fixed on today, because I have seen tomorrow. 

Last night I tucked sunscreen in her suitcase- knowing that I would soon be packing supplies for her college dorm. I peeked in her room as she slept- understanding that the bulge beneath the blankets and the books/clothes/cds scattered from window to door would soon be replaced with a silent tidiness that screams 'she has a new home', 'she has a new life.' 

Before dawn, I drove Little Sis to the airport, reminding her to do this or that important thing- realizing that our conversations will soon occur between computer screens, and my directions will only be suggestions. I watched her disappear into a passenger packed screening line- accepting that hugs and goodbyes will soon be our new normal.  I may continue to check the clock, but the sound of a car door slamming, and her cheerful “I’m home!” will ring in my ears from memory alone.

Like most adults, I am a veteran of goodbyes. I moved away, moved back, missed, wrote, called, visited- for years. I know all too well that with each joyful hello, an ache of goodbye soon follows. I glimpsed that knowledge in my eldest daughter's eyes when she returned from college for her first Thanksgiving break. Her gaze reflected the maturity of an adult torn between two places; 'home'- filled with security and the people you love, versus 'home-away-from-home'; an exciting but unfamiliar place filled with challenge, opportunity, important decisions, and friends and family in the making. Recognizing that look in my daughter's eyes, I knew that my best hope of dulling the ache that comes with goodbyes was to help her understand that 'home' will always be the universe to whatever new galaxy she chooses to explore. 

As I left for my first Parent's Weekend a few months back, a dear friend called to wish me well.  “Why is it," she asked, "that we spend so much time loving our kids and helping them grow into caring, successful people, only to be rewarded with letting them go?”

I am a novice in the My-Kid-is-Off-at-College Club. My new job is to offer encouragement, guidance when asked, and prayers for my daughter's continued safety and happiness. My reward is hearing her excitement with each new success and discovery. My reward is observing- through conversation and photographs- the exploration, learning and decision-making that is defining her journey to adulthood.

Three short months ago Big Sister went off to college. Little Sis will soon follow. 

Five days in the Magic Kingdom. Six months of high school. A summer to prepare for the next big adventure. And a moment to prepare for the new normal of goodbyes.

I wish I had thought to stoop beside Little Sis years ago, and gather Tinkerbell's magic pixie dust with her.

I would sprinkle some right now, and slow down time.

QUING HEREBY DECREES:  It's Christmastime. Skip the stress. Enjoy every moment.