Kindergarten and letting go

I’ve been a mess this past week. My little girl is 6 years old this year and started kindergarten. A million other kids go through it but she’s not a million other kids to me. She’s my *one* in a million!

She took three years to conceive and when she was born, you could hold her in one hand she was so tiny. The doctor called her a “little peanut”.

Maddie at 6 days old

When she was a year old, I wrote the following…

There is no greater sound than my daughter’s laugh. No greater sight than her smile. The look of joy in her eyes because she is with me and I’m flying her effortlessly through the living room. No screaming or mistrust. No generation gap. Not yet. I’d step in front of a bullet for her. It wouldn’t take a second thought. I’d stand up to God for her. I never knew the depth of love and devotion before she came into this world. And one day I’ll let her go. She’ll start her own journey and make her own mistakes. I’ll be strong for her. I’ll cry for both of us. But for now, there is her laugh. Her smile. Everything else is tomorrow.

It all feels like yesterday.

After the divorce, she moved with her mother several hours away. Since that day I’ve read the above passage a million times. The phrase “one day I’ll let her go” ringing in my mind. Since then I’ve called her most every night. I’ve had to learn – and still am learning – how to balance my life apart from her with the precious time I get to have her with me.

Now, kindergarten. She’s started in a new world all her own – away from both parents. Truly her own journey. I said I’d be strong for her – but to me she’s still that helpless “little peanut” and that laughing little girl flying around the living room in my arms.

Maddie at 6 years old

I talk to her a minute one night, 2 minutes another night, maybe 8 or 9 once in a while – as much phone time as a 6-year-old ready for bed wants to give. She knows she’ll be seeing me so I think it’s her that’s stronger than me most nights.

“One day I’ll let her go?” When she moved away? When she started kindergarten? One day when she gets married? I think the art is “letting go” and “never letting go” all at once. She will make her own mistakes – and she’ll live with the mistakes of others. I’d still step in front of a bullet for her or stand up to God for her. But the hardest thing of all is to stand back and know she can do it on her own.

So, “everything else is tomorrow?” Yes, but tomorrow isn’t some unknown future time. It’s a few hours from now, then the next day, and the next, and every day after that. Kindergarten is hard, but it’s knowing that she can handle it – and letting go. It’s letting her dodge the bullets and stand up tall but always being there for her – and never letting go.