The Goodbye I Never Knew I Would Be Grateful For

Taking my living daughter to college was built with so much anticipation. So many what ifs, so many hows, and so many thoughts about how I was going to do my everyday life without her.

I had no idea the emotions that would come my way once we got to her college.

I expected to feel sad. I expected the tears. I expected that heaviness that comes with leaving your child after raising them for 18 years. What I did not expect was the overwhelming sense of pride I would feel, a feeling that went far beyond anything I could have imagined.

Once we got there, I started to see Reese in a different light. I saw a bright young woman who was ready for this next chapter. I started to witness her making her own decisions. I watched her feel happy on the softball field, make new friends, and begin finding her place.

I watched how wonderful her new college was, not only in the way they treated her, but in the way they welcomed all of us parents who were there trying to prepare ourselves to say goodbye to our children.

There was something about those first days that made me step back and really watch her. Instead of seeing the little girl I had spent 18 years raising, I was seeing the young woman she was becoming. And I was so incredibly proud of her.

No one prepares you to take your child to college after raising them for 18 years. There is no way to really know what that moment will feel like until you are standing there, surrounded by boxes, dorm rooms, new friends, and a child who is ready to begin a life of their own.

But something deeper happened to me that I was not expecting. I hardly had many sad emotions. Instead, what hit me so clearly, almost as if someone had written it across the sky, was this:

No one prepares you to lose your child to cancer. No one.

And suddenly, taking your child to college is actually a privilege. A blessing. It is not a sad thing when you stop and realize what it truly means.

Because I was not burying my child, like we did Rylee.

Her twin sister gets the honor to go on in life and make her life her own. She gets to grow, make decisions, experience new things, make mistakes, find her people, chase her dreams and become the woman she is meant to be. And I am so proud of her.

What I was not expecting

Since Reese left, Rylee being gone feels louder.

Seeing both bedroom doors closed. Not hearing either of them in the house. Not hearing their voices, their laughter, their conversations. The house feels different in a way that is difficult to explain.

For so long, even though Rylee was gone, Reese was still here. There was still one twin in the house. There was still the familiar sound of her coming through the door, getting ready for softball, talking about her day, or simply being here.

Now Reese is gone too. And that has put on full blast the reality of our enormous loss.

Grief can be strange that way. You can learn how to get through your days, and then something completely unexpected brings the loss back to the surface in a way you were not prepared for.

To lose your child is literally the darkest of the dark, the worst of the worst, the unbearable of the unbearable. Taking your child to college is nothing compared to that.

What is hard for me is seeing other parents post about how they are going to drop their child off at college, how sad and miserable they are, and how they are counting the minutes until they get to see them again.

I understand that everyone's pain is relative to their own life. I would never want to take away from anyone's feelings or tell another parent that they should not be sad. Of course they should miss their child.

But I can only wish that was the problem I had with Rylee. I would give anything to be able to drop her off at college and know that she was only a plane ride or a car ride away. I would give anything to be counting the days until I could see her again.

What Rylee taught me

My loss is so deep and so sad and so unbearable. It is something I carry with me every single day. But I have no choice but to cope and continue moving through my days, not only for me and my family, but for Rylee.

Rylee taught me purpose. She taught me how to move forward. She taught me that even when life gives you the most unimaginable pain, you have to find a way to continue living. Not because the pain goes away, but because the person you lost would want you to.

Rylee lived her life with the greatest joy one can ever imagine. She was the happiest person I have ever witnessed. We used to laugh in our house that Rylee was probably only upset one day out of the entire year, and when that day happened we had to chuckle a little, because it was so unlike her.

She thought of others always. She would give away her toys because she thought someone else might need them. She would talk to me about other people and tell me how concerned she was about them, or how happy she was for them.

She saw the beauty in this world in places most people would never think to look. She noticed flowers on the side of the road that everyone else drove right past. She saw beauty in animals and somehow seemed to sense what they needed.

She noticed things. She cared. She loved deeply. But most of all, she was always there for her family.

Rylee remembered everything. Literally everything. Everyone's schedules, appointments, trips and plans. After the day was over she would ask you how that appointment went, or how that trip to the doctor was. She remembered it all because she genuinely cared.

Her love for her sister was huge. Even though everyone thought Rylee was more of the leader of the two, she idolized Reese. She watched her and learned from everything she did. She admired her and supported her. There was not a jealous bone in her body.

She loved her grandparents with so much tenderness and wanted to be with them as much as she could. But Rylee was truly my sidekick. My love bug. My best friend. Her loss is with me every day, and I miss her deeply.

If you are dropping your child off

If anyone is reading this and you have a child who will be going off to college, please try to look at it differently.

Yes, you will miss them. Yes, it will hurt when you hug them goodbye. Yes, your house will feel different, and you will wish they were home. But please try to remember what a blessing it is.

They are alive. You get to witness them grow and prosper. You get to watch them become their own person. You get to watch them build a life for themselves. You are the luckiest person around.

When you hug them goodbye, remember that they are a plane ride or a car ride away. You will see them again. You will get another hug. You will have holidays, weekends, phone calls and a lifetime of memories still waiting to be made.

And I know there will be days when you miss them so much that it hurts. There will be days when you wish they were home. That is okay. That is part of being a parent. But underneath that sadness there is something incredibly beautiful.

Your child is alive. They get to go. They get to grow. They get to make their own mistakes, find their people, discover who they are and build a life of their own. And you get to watch it happen.

I wish more than anything that Rylee had been given that same chance. I wish I could have stood in a college dorm room with her. I wish I could have helped her unpack her things, met her friends, watched her find her place, and hugged her goodbye knowing she would be coming home.

I do not get that with Rylee. But I get to watch Reese do it. And somehow, through all the heartbreak, there is something beautiful about that.

Rylee taught me that life is short. She taught me to notice the flowers on the side of the road. To love fiercely. To care about people. To find joy in the smallest things. And most importantly, she taught me that every day we are given with the people we love is a gift.

So yes, I miss Reese terribly. But I do not want to wish away the distance. I do not want to wish away this chapter for her. I want her to go. I want her to experience everything. I want her to laugh, learn, play softball, make friends, find her people, and become the woman she is meant to be.

Because she gets to. And I get to be her mom and watch it all unfold.

That is not something to be sad about. That is a privilege. That is a blessing. And after losing Rylee, I know the difference.

Life is short… Cannonball.