Hold on Honey

Maisy has been sick, once again. She missed three days of school and suffered through a long weekend. This morning she seemed pretty good with only a bit of lingering dehydration (a side effect of antibiotics.) I got up in the dark and talked to her and she wanted to go to school, so we got dressed. I carried her on the bus with the rising sun and set her down to walk to her seat. But then she looked up at me with this sweet needy expression. It was an expression I haven't seen in a while; it is a look of she used to give me in the hospital and it has always said the same thing. "I'm going to be strong, Mom, because you're here and you believe in me. But I need you by my side." How can one expression say such words? How can one look between a mother and daughter convey a thought?

She held up her arms and I picked her back up. My heart wanted to take her back inside, but I whispered in her ear, "You'll be fine honey. If you want to come home just tell your teacher and I'll come get you." (Trust me that if she wants to come home the message will get through loud and clear.) I put her in her seat and buckled her in, fumbling over the same buckle I've done so many times.

Why is it so hard to let go? Why is it difficult to see them struggle, but mostly, why can't I just take it away? How does the momma bird watch her babies work against the eggshell without intervening? But then what is the alternative? Do I want that? Do I want them to never go to college, missions, get married, have families? I know the pain and pressure that can bring, do I hide them away from the joy too? I know the answer, but I also know that I just want to hold them a little longer, a little tighter some days. I hope they're okay with that, I hope its enough.