About two months before I graduated from high school, my mother got into a habit of reminiscing over things I did as a toddler and how small I used to be. It irked teenaged-me because the repetition became so predictable, like a script read over and over again. I got it, or thought I did: I’d be leaving to be on my own in college soon, and she’d miss me. Enough already, Mom.
Going through the same process now with my own daughter, even though we’re over a year away from her going away, I realize teenaged-me didn’t get it. It’s more than just knowing I’ll miss my daughter around the house after all these years, it’s realizing there’s a coming threshold she’ll step over and for the first time I won’t be able to follow along with her. It bookends one of the first shocks I had as a new father when after all the special wristbands, procedures, and supervision in the hospital we were discharged and riding the elevator down to the main floor. I said to my wife, “Really? They just let us leave with a baby?” That was the shock of responsibility falling on me and while I had some idea of what to do next, there were so many unknowns we’d have to figure out in real time.
Fast-forward to now and my brain playing endless loops of my daughter growing up like it’s searching for some thread that will make sense of what’s to come based on what’s already happened. Either that, or I’m checking to make sure I haven’t forgotten some important lesson or fatherly wisdom to pass along. I don’t feel like I’ve missed anything and believe I’ve done the best I can. All I have left in me are dad jokes and annoying puns, it seems.
I’m going through the shock of feeling all that responsibility fall away in our relationship and not knowing what, exactly, will replace it.
I’ll figure it out, just like I did back then.
