I wish... she was mine.

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

"To a Daughter Leaving Home", Linda Pastan


This is going to sound crazy. When Anika was a teeny tiny baby I broke down. I broke down daily but this time it was over something that was a seeming eternity away... my daughter leaving home. She couldn't even sit up yet and here I was bawling at the mere, and first, realization that she didn't belong to me. I realized that the day would come when she would move away from home. I realized that the day would come when she would slam the bedroom door and say "I hate you Mom". I looked at her little angel face and knew she wouldn't know how much I love her until she cradles her own.

I must admit. I must admit I was more attached to the nursing than she was. I liked to tell myself and others that it was only a nutritional thing, but, I am heartbroken it is over. All those days of nursing and cursing it. "Oh, I can't wait until this is over and she can eat a happy meal." I love watching her grow but I hate the days passing. Phases and stages coming and going, never to return.

And the fear. I fear her going away from me. Unspeakable fear.

Anika's self-weaning has been a lesson in letting go. This is my first little practice test, and I am failing miserably. I love her. She is part of me.

What if she meets some boy someday and moves away, far away? (I already want to kill that SOB!)

Anika, darling, my wittle one. You will know what this is like someday. Someday you will know what this love, this incredible love, feels like.

Beautiful daughter, you have brought me happiness. I want to freeze time and keep you just like you are. But... I want you to grow and discover who you are. Each day. Each moment. Just having you. It is enough. Because of you, I have enough. I am enough. It is enough. You are my joy.


I tried to tell her:
This way the twig is bent.
Born of my trunk and strengthened by my roots,
you must stretch newgrown branches
closer to the sun
then I can reach.

I wanted to say:
Extend my self to that far atmosphere
only my dreams allow.

But the twig broke,
and yesterday I saw her
walking down an unfamiliar street,
feet confident
face slanted upward toward a threatening sky,

and

she was smiling
and she was
her very free,
her very individual,
unpliable
own.

-Offspring, Naomi Long Madgett



Mom, I know. I know.