“The hardest part of your kids growing up, is being able to let them go."

We spend so many years protecting them from getting hurt, warning them about dangers, teaching them how to recognize things - or people - that might harm them, and after a whole life time of that being our responsibility, we are just supposed to….stop doing it. And while growing up happens bit by bit, lessons learned one by one, in the end - no matter how much you do and how hard you try - I don’t think it ever feels like you’ve done enough.

I have three beautiful children. My oldest is 20, and graduating college this week and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that of all the mothering milestones - this has hit me the hardest. I think we, as parents, orient ourselves by landmarks much as sailors navigated by the stars. We know we’re on the right path if this happens, or if that star is over the port bow of the ship.

My North Star has always been that my children grow into capable, independent, functioning adults who are capable of handling any situation that they find themselves in. I set my bearings by the typical milestones you expect - landmark birthdays, growth spurts, ceremonies, and accomplishments.

Many of these were missed for various reasons. From her third grade year through the end of seventh grade, I was both working and in school full-time and we all sacrificed a lot during that period, including a lot of time together. I did the best I could but as I said, no matter how much it is, it never feels like enough. We lost the “Sweet 16” party to relocating that summer. COVID took spring break, prom, and high school graduation away from us. She lived at home through most of her college experience, because it saved money and allowed her to work less and graduate debt free.

And here we stand, with the biggest milestone, my “North Star” of parenting, College Graduation - looming right over the dock shining as brightly as possible.

And I just don’t know where the time went.

I look at my daughter and my mind knows that she is already a capable, independent, functioning adult who is capable of handling any situation that she finds herself in, but my heart - ooooh my heart sees that tiny little one year old holding her teddy and crying in my kitchen at 2 am because we’re out of milk and she wants a bottle.

It’s almost as if there’s a constant movie playing in my head full of all of those milestones, but also all the tiny, beautiful moments that only we know.

She’s put into my arms for the first time, now she’s learned to say MAMA and I can’t leave her sight, she’s crying for milk in the kitchen, now she’s making mud pies, splashing in puddles, graduating kindergarten, learning to write, saying she wants to be just like me, learning to paint, reading chapter books, wearing my shoes, makeup, first date, first job, first heartbreak, living on her own, and I still don’t know where the time has gone.

I don’t feel like my job is done. I feel like I still have to warn her of things that will try to hurt her. I feel like if I can just have one-more-day/week/year I could finish the job I’ve spent my life working on.

And at the same time, I feel like somehow, she and I found the path through and made it.

While I am bursting with pride at how much she has accomplished, and everything that she is, and if I'm being honest - I'm kinda proud of me too. (I really did what I set out to do as a parent.) I also have to accept the fact that my role in her life is more like a safe harbor for her to visit between adventures, a place to rest and resupply before crossing oceans to exotic new destinations.

I’m no longer teaching her how to read the stars to navigate her life, I’m trusting her to use what I’ve taught her to make her own map and to use the stars to navigate back, if she ever gets lost.

But it’s not enough. It’s just never enough.

It feels like there are so many things that we missed out on and so many things I wanted to go but time slipped away.

And now I’m the one holding her teddy and crying in the kitchen.

And now I understand my mom crying when I left for college.

And I’m sure if I asked my mom, she would tell me she still sees me at 2 years-old asking for my favorite babydoll.

And I’m sure she’d say it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough.

But she’s still my safe harbor. And that is enough. In fact, it’s not just enough - it’s everything.

And if you're a mother, that's who you are - you're their everything, their map, and their North Star.

You just don't know it until after they've set sail and launched into open waters.

You know it when they come back, to tell you all about their adventures.

To rest, to resupply, and to do it all again.

And it's enough.

Because they know, no matter what, you are there.

And that's all they really need.