Parenthood Is Always Saying Goodbye
How Bringing Them Into The World Automatically Means Letting Them Go
It’s always saying goodbye — this whole thing, right from the start. It was always hello and goodbye simultaneously. It was always a double-edged sword, both bitter and sweet, a smile with a tear.
You were inside my body, part of me and then you were not. I said hello to the you that emerged blinking into the world and goodbye to the you that once grew inside of me.
I looked at you and you looked at me and it was like you had been here before, like you knew everything — big blue eyes, solemn and curious. I wanted to hold you forever, somehow mould us back together, never ever have to let you go.
But that’s what it is, what this always is. Letting go, saying goodbye, time and time again. It’s the most beautiful pain in the world.
I said hello to a baby on the move but goodbye to the one that stayed where I put it. I said hello to your first steps, whilst gulping back tears because now you could go where you wanted.
And that’s what you did. You went where you wanted. You walked, you ran, you climbed, you left.
The first time you pulled your small hand from mine it hit me hard enough to physically hurt. Being a mother is letting go. Being a mother is never long enough. Being a mother is always saying goodbye.
A stubborn blend of shyness and independence, you practically marched yourself to school, not once looking back. And I discovered the lyrics to Slipping Through My Fingers and would never ever be able to listen to that song without crying.
I said goodbye again, and again, and again. I said hello to a teenager and goodbye to my little girl. I said hello to an adult and even now I choke on smiles and tears every time we say goodbye.
You stand on your own two feet now. You left home, left the country, left us. I said goodbye while you blinked away your own nervous tears, and then I drove away, leaving you there to fend for yourself.
When I see you now, I grab you, hold you tight, for that one small moment I smell your hair, feel your face against mine and remember my baby and my little girl and my fierce teenager. They’re all gone now - I had to say goodbye to them all and hello to you. My adult child. My first born.
Again and again, I say hello then have to say goodbye. And even though my own mother warned me, I never realised until I held you for the first time how painful love could be.
Written in response to Modern Women’s July prompt, Saying Goodbye