~Learn to fly

She graduates in six days and my melancholy is overwhelming me now.

Labor pains started early; four days early and the moment had arrived. My womb had become too small. She was ready as was I, but sixteen hours later she was taken. My 'pelvic inlet was too small.' Surgery had not been in the plans but all turned out well. My body wanted to house this vernix-covered babe forever. And I find myself still wanting to house her forever. In the womb of my home I want her to stay.

She is going to China. Who is this child, so unlike her mother?

The umbilical cord stretches beyond its capacity and I want to tug. No! Not yet. I am not ready. God! My pelvic inlet is too small! She is not done yet. Here she needs to stay. But the Master Surgeon is reaching in my womb, ripping flesh, and I am raw. He knows my nature will not want to release this precious child. I am left void.

Eighteen years have gone too fast. She crawled, toddled and ran through stages and milestones quickly... and joyfully. I want to linger in her presence. Bring her in close and nuzzle my nose to her locks of hair. I still do and momentarily catch the sweet smell of her skin and shampooed tendrils---pure and sweet nostalgia. Not too far from the outer layer of a now young lady I can smell my babe. The intoxicating smell of a newborn babe.

As I peruse photographs, I catch glimpses of young girl and her amazing sense of wonder. I can see through her beautiful brown eyes.

'I want to learn to fly Mom!' Of course you do sweetheart. You can get lessons someday and your Dad can take you up on a plane and you can learn to fly. Clueless was I that a metal airplane with wings was not the kind of flying she was talking about. Her five year old neighborhood friend came rushing in screaming one afternoon, 'Mrs. Fisher! Mrs. Fisher!(pant) Kayla got hurt! She was running down the street, (pant-pant) She was going to show us how to fly. She almost made it!' Mending skinned knees, hands and nose I explain that people can't fly that way.
'But why not Mom?'
Just because Kayla.

She wants to fly. I'm scared.
Will I be mending a skinned heart, skinned knees of emotions or worse? My mind can't go there.

Relinquishment is so hard. A small voice beckons me to believe and trust. Hand over the gift. Give it back to her Creator. He knows where he wants to take her. So I let go of the fear somewhat and rest in faith.

Graduating in six days.

At times I feel I am ready and at others I just want to pull her in to my chest.
Something tells me that this milestone will be the hardest of all.