There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots. The other is wings. ~Hodding Carter, Jr.
My daughter has informed me that she’s leaving to Alaska on Saturday. She’s leaving and spreading her wings. I tried to explain to her that she’s leaving what feels like a cage here to a cage there. She’s running scared because she’s pregnant. I tried to tell her that changing scenery is not going to alter circumstance. Of course she won’t listen to me, I’m only her mother. She’s running away from me and herself to grandparents that she doesn’t know and they don’t know her. They are the ones that sent her the plane tickets, not just for her but for her boyfriend that is leading her around by the nose. Don’t even get me started on the boy’s mother. She’s just happy that a girl, my foolish daughter, is getting her lazy, good-for-nothing son out of her hair. Why did it have to be my daughter that finally got this lazy boy off his lazy ass and out of his mother’s home? My daughter sent me a message on Facebook that she wanted to see me before she left and I told her “no”. I will not apologize for refusing to see my daughter off to a foolish expedition without a plan or any foresight. I know me too well, anything I say to her is surely going to sound like judgment and it will come across harsh. So, I chose not to see her. I choose not to see her because as surely as the Earth rotates on it’s axis I know that if I try to speak to or look at my foolish child right now I am putting my sobriety at risk. I am not sorry to say that I am being selfish about my sobriety. I wish her the best, but deep down I already know how this is going to turn out and she will have to find out for herself. There are so many things wrong with this picture, her boyfriend’s mother is so happily throwing her child to the wind in her over-exuberance to have her son out of her house and on his own when he doesn’t have a pot to piss in or the knowledge of how to get a pot, and dragging along my pregnant daughter with him. His mother uses this fallacious argument that “I have raised my kid!” I could say to my daughter, “If it were me”, but it isn’t me and at this point she is going to make her mistakes and I’m only afraid that this is one that she is going to pay for dearly. I’m sorry for her because I think she’s going to realize her mistake but it’s going to be too late and her pride won’t let her tell me so.
CYMRY 