Letting go . . .

I sent my baby girl off to Science Camp this week. She's been looking forward to this week for months—maybe even years. It's a rite of passage of sorts . . . a week in the woods with her class, and no parents hovering about. No electronics (including cell phones) were allowed, so she's completely out of reach.

For months, I've known this was coming and I was so excited for her! I kept thinking back to my own version of science camp, called Outdoor School, when I was in 5th or 6th grade. I had the best time. At least I think I did. My only real memory of the week was having to lick a banana slug to test out the natural anesthetic properties of its slime . . .

As the day of her departure got closer, the realization of her leaving began to sink in. The thought of not seeing her, of not hugging her, or kissing her goodnight, of not hearing her giggle or talk (or even talk back . . .) for an entire 5 days started to fill me with a bit of sadness.

The night before she left, I sat down to write her a few letters to send for her to open each day. As I told her how much I loved her, how happy I was that she got to have this amazing adventure, and how lucky I was to be her mom, I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. I figured I'd get all the tears out and be done and ready to send her off with a smile.

Monday morning, I got up early and came down to make pancakes for a special breakfast. When Olivia walked in the kitchen, the floodgates opened up. Between my quiet sobs, I managed to squeak out "I'm sorry if I cry honey, I'm not sad . . . I just love you so much."

She came over and gave me a big hug. As she looked up at my teary eyes, she smiled and said "Geez mom. If you're crying like this when I'm just going to Science Camp for a week, what are you going to do when I leave for college?"

We lugged all her stuff to school, underwent some last minute instructions and direction from her teacher, and then it was time to go.

As she passed by me walking out to the bus and saw me with my camera aimed and ready to click, she shot me a look of death and said "Come ON Mom, seriously?"

I wasn't the only one snapping photos!

Bags were packed with a week's worth of clothes, sleeping bags and pillows rolled together, and there was a mad dash to get on the bus.

Olivia waited patiently with her best buddies—they were the last ones to get their bags stashed below the bus.

I watched her line up with her class before boarding the bus, all of them equally filled with excitement and anticipation of what was to come. I wondered how we got to this point.

When did this little person who filled me with so much joy and love . . .

become this big person that gives so much joy and love to everyone she meets?

The house feels a little empty this week. My heart feels even more empty. It's amazing how the dynamics of our family change with one person gone. I frequently find my thoughts turning to her. Wondering what she's doing, if she's warm enough, if she likes the food, if she's remembering to brush her teeth. And then the tears start up, and I have to distract myself with something else for a while.

The boys both miss their big sister. Grant keeps saying funny things like "I can't believe Olivia is old enough to go Science Camp. I miss her . . ." Jack has said several times "I really miss Olivia. I can't wait til she comes home."

I know that no matter how many times I watch my child drive away, I'll feel that tug in my heart. And yet, letting them each go is a necessary part of life. And when that day comes in a few years when Olivia drives away for good, she'll be ready.

I wish I could say the same for me.