12/16/2011 So what the hell is wrong with me? Today is my daughter’s official move out day and, despite all my cheering that I couldn’t wait for this to finally happen, I actually feel like crying. I love her soooooo much and already miss her and am worried sick about her being on her own. Despite knowing logically that she’s smart and savvy, and can handle the responsibility, it’s the same as admitting that she doesn’t need me anymore. She’s outgrown me and can do her own life.

For the past few days, she’s been so level-headed, so organized, so matter-of-fact about what she needs to do and we’ve had some adult conversations about it. We even had a mother-daughter talk about pregnancy (after she revealed she had a bit of a scare). These conversations took place at our house, civilly, rationally, maturely—the way I’ve been hoping for. AND NOW SHE’S LEAVING!I have this sudden urge to hug her and squeeze her and beg her to stay with her mommy where she belongs. Suddenly, I’ve forgotten what brought us to this point and why I made this happen. I feel guilty, forlorn, lonely, useless . . . old and forgotten. And she hasn’t even moved her belongings yet. Why am I dreading this so much? It’s the right thing to do at the right time and for the right reasons. She’s an adult who wants her total independence, doesn’t want to follow my stodgy rules, and can afford to grow up a bit.

All those thoughts about having my friends over, giving parties, doing whatever I want, starting a new routine, saving money, keeping a clean house, and enjoying my freedom—why does it all sound so phony and just plain awful? Why do I now see loneliness and distance? All the mornings I grumbled about taking her to work—now what will I get up for? All the phone calls I made to see when she’d be home—what will I call her for now that won’t seem an annoyance? All the complaints I made about her being a slob—now who do I clean up after, the cat?

I’ve been a mother for 20 years—that’s what I know best. I don’t yet know how to be just a woman who lives in a house in a neighborhood and goes to work. For 20 years, I’ve known very clearly what my purpose has been—to provide food, shelter, clothing, love, doctor’s appointments, soccer practices, dance lessons, homework help, advice about boy and periods, and to give hugs and snuggles whether needed or not. I don’t know who else to be. I don’t know who else I CAN be. I am suddenly feeling so sorry for myself. Is this normal?