Needing

Nine years ago I drove Elizabeth to Kindergarten for the first time. I walked her to class. I pulled her close to wish her a wonderful day and she surprised me by jumping up into my arms holding on with fierce determination. Everyday for the first 3 months of school, I would pry her out of my arms and passing her off to a loving and patient teacher. As I quickly returned to my car, Elizabeth's sobbing would echo in my mind triggering some tears of my own. I ached and longed to just keep her with me: to prevent the tears and dramatic partings. Yet, I knew she needed to be at school, and prayed it would get easier on both of us.

There are still times when Elizabeth needs me. Every Doctor, Orthodontist, Dentist, Orthopedic, and Lab visits she needs me. I am still needed to coax or sometimes carry her into the office. I am there to hold her hand, rub her legs, play with her hair, or even restrain her while an unpleasant procedure is performed. At those terrible moments when I am using all my strength and weight to hold her down and she is screaming at me and everyone else, I still yearn to end her pain. I want to leave too. I want to promise we'll never need to return. But, I can't. Some things we just have to endure. I do promise to be there with her. I also promise and reassure her that while I do not enjoy her radical tantrums, I will love her in spite of them. Her guilt and sorrow after the episodes also tear at my heart for I know those emotions too and wish I could take them away. I hold her close and whisper soothing words of confidence and love to her.

I need Elizabeth too. I need her help with kids from time to time. I need to know how she is feeling about things. I need to know that she is ok when I am not there with her every moment to protect her.

I dropped my Freshman girl off for her first day of High School. She was loaded down with school supplies, water bottles, her assortment of flags for Colorguard, and a heavy heart filled with worry. I awoke extra early, showered, and dressed anticipating escorting her to the Freshman Assembly. I wanted to watch her first performance in front of her peers. I needed to know how her day would go. I wanted her to know that at least one person in the room was cheering for her. I pulled up to the curb and told her I would park and meet her inside. As she faced me to close the car door, she leaned in and with a determined plea begged me to not come. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, closed the door, and walked bravely away. I cried all the way home. Need is a funny thing. It changes and takes various forms. But I suppose the one constant is at the end of the day, Elizabeth still needs a hug, a kiss on the head, and to hear those magical three words: "I Love You." And, I need to let go and wait for her to return.