The countdown is on. My eldest daughter leaves home for university in 37 days. I’m supposed to feel excited and proud. I am, but she’s my right hand, the organizer, the calm, logical antidote to my constant chaos. I can’t imagine every day life without her presence.
The separation from us, the family unit, started awhile ago, two years to be exact, when she wanted to go out all the time, choosing friends over family. I know this is a normal part of growing up and I remember my teenage years when the most important thing on my mind was the next party. Yet it feels like time is the wind sweeping me along. I can barely keep up, the years flying by so fast that I want to shout, ‘stop a minute. Let me catch my breath.’ The mirror shows me grey hairs and a few lines and I think in cliches. Just yesterday my daughter was born, eyes wide open taking in her new world. Just yesterday I was young, teaching her to ride a bike, watching her in swim class. We came to Canada just yesterday. She was five and she looked around on the way from the airport and said, “this country has no colour.”