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Dear Harry

I took a trip.  Just a quick trip up the road to the only natural lake in TX, Caddo.  I traveled with my four children and my best friend.  We loaded up the car with food, clothes and fishing gear for our four day stay.  I wasn't sure if this would be a trip my kids would enjoy as Caddo isn't a lake for swimming.  It sits on the Texas/Louisiana border and has alligators listed as one of its natural inhabitants, but off we went.  The next four days we laughed, we fished and we canoed.  The quiet there was like nothing I had experienced before.  The stillness was its own kind of noise. It was noticeable to the point that throughout the day, you found yourself stopping to comment on it. The laughter of my children was not subdued by it though. They kept me so busy with setting hooks and boat rides, I don't think the stillness around us was ready or will ever forget.   We watched cranes wading through the lilypads and other various wildlife, but to my son's chagrin, we never did see and alligator.  My two teenage daughters actually cooperated long enough to take a canoe ride together.  It was another world that we all found difficult to leave.

My dad seemed to be everywhere there, like he was part of the wind that swayed the moss hanging from every Cypress.  I could see him around every corner, hear his gut laugh and the smell of Old Spice seemed to blend and become part of the bayou.  It was so strong that even after we returned, I couldn't shake it.  So I traveled to my hometown to the small cemetery where he is buried.  I stood there in the summer sun and cleaned up the grass that tried to grow over his stone.  I told him about our trip, his grandchildren and I, desperately, wanted an answer.  None came of course, just the sounds of summer and the occasional car.

Then it's time for school to start again, the hustle and bustle of the familiar routine, but this year is different.  This year my oldest daughter is a senior.  Soon I will have to share her brilliance with the world and as many moms before have done, I am struggling with it.  Just today, I woke and headed to her room to tell her good morning, but she was already gone.  Off to work or to church or to visit friends.  The sadness that came over me at the sight of that empty room seemed to carry a weight.  Although, I am not the only one beginning to feel it.  One of my son's wrote in a school assignment that he wanted to work at GameStop so he would get to see his sissy more.

I began to realize that her graduating is like a loss.  I am grieving even as I rejoice.  My life will never be the same, just as hers won't.  Her journey is just beginning as we plan college tours and apply for this scholarship and that university.  I want to stop the clock's movement because it hurts to know next year at this time, she'll be far away.  We've received two acceptance letters and I predict many more before she makes her final decision.  It is her decision, her journey.  I am desperatley trying not to push one way or the other, but I am afraid I am probably failing.  Of course, one theory of parenting is that we are going screw them up either way, so do what you want; however, I think I'll give it a bit more thought than that.

My little world was shattered again as my Lily began discussing her choices for electives in high school.  My brain actually went blank for a second as in the movies, when the actor looks straight at the camera and asks the audience if what they heard was for real.  She cannot possibly be old enough for high school.

I keep struggling with the back and forth of holding tight to my little ones and letting go so that they can explore, grow, become who they are.  This year the struggle seems to be growing.  Is it the milestones that make me look back or is it fear of the future halting my steps?

Now, suddenly, it seems, it's already the New Year, 2015.  I begin a new semester tomorrow.  My oldest daughter begins her last semester of high school.  My younger daughter begins her last semester of middle school and my baby boys, well, 3rd grade volcanos won't be repeated thank goodness.  The holidays brought adventure as mom hit a hog of all things and needed rescuing on Christmas Eve, but the most intriguing to me was a moment earlier that evening.  My father finally answered me, well, after a fashion.  Karaoke is a tradition for my family on Christmas Eve.  Cousins, aunts, uncles all sing loudly and off key, but with great joy.  The first song of the night was chosen by my son, named for the son my father didn't have.  He picks James Taylor's "You've got a friend."  Now why you ask would an 8 year old pick James Taylor?  Normally, I wouldn't have an answer.  This time though, I do.  That is the last song played at my father's funeral.  The song that will forever remind me of him and that I am not alone.  Message received.

 I sang along, I cried and I took a deep breath.  All is well, Rachel Leigh.  I am not losing anything.  My daughter won't stop being my daughter.  I am not alone.  We are not alone.  Forgive me Harry for doubting.

As always Harry, wishing you love and happiness.  Merry Christmas!  Happy New Year!

With love from East Texas