This morning on my way to work I saw a girl, maybe 8-years old, saying goodbye to her mom. This sweet little lady clasped her arms tightly around her mom's legs, squeezing her eyes shut, trying so hard to will her way to a different ending. The girl looked very unhappy about the pending separation and clearly longed to spend more time with her mom.
In an instant, I realized that I felt the same way as that little girl. Yesterday I said another tearful goodbye to my mom, who is on her way to Afghanistan as I write. She's doing something bold, something daring, something honorable and generous. I'm proud of her for taking on a challenging and necessary job at this stage in her life. I'm inspired by her example.
But, honestly, above all I'm just so sad that she's gone. I want to wrap my arms around her and beg her to stay close by. I want her to be here for Alice's first Christmas and for her first birthday. I want her to be a phone call away. I selfishly want her to stay put and be with my little family.
I know these aren't the actions of grown-ups; that part of bring an adult is allowing - if not encouraging - your parents to become individuals rather than just your mom or your dad. I know I will want Alice to respect me as a professional, as an adult, as a woman when she is my age.
But right now all I want to be is that 8-year old. I want to throw a temper tantrum and beg her to stay. I am not ready to accept this. Not yet.
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