Around here, we call her Cat

This morning I woke to a house full of her friends, fast asleep here and there in my living room. I had forgotten how easy it was to sleep on a couch, chair or even the floor when you are 19. They had driven in from Louisiana yesterday, wanting to see her before she left for college.

Which will happen in five days.

On Wednesday, we'll drive to Austin with all her stuff in the truck, and her following behind in her car. On Wednesday we move her into her dorm. Thursday she'll attend orientation and registration. Friday I'll return to Houston, likely without dry eyes. As excited as I am for her that she's been accepted to the university she wants to attend, that she'll experience dorm life rather than living with her Aunt and attending community college, that she'll be on her own and figuring her way, I'm also dragging myself through the days that rapidly approach her leaving.

She's blossomed the past several months, and I've enjoyed every minute of her living with me. I've also gotten to know her on a level that is beyond love, a level of respect and pride as I've listened to the reasoning behind the choices she makes in her life. I'm nuts about the person she is and the young woman she is becoming. Her talent behind the camera floors me and I'm certain that pursuing photography as her major will secure a bright future for her. The Christmas print she gave me of Cheyenne is one of those photos that is less of a captured moment and more of her eye and camera skills, her skill in enlarging and printing. It's one of those photos that says photographer, and not lucky shot.

What I'm not going to do in this next paragraph is jabber on about how I held her when she was only hours old, how I've watched and guarded over her for 20 years, and been involved every step of her way, from bottle feeding and Christmas pagents, and skinned knees and braces, to first dates and broken hearts. And every one of her haircuts and hair colors, and even the piercings and that tattoo. Okay, that's wrong. I did not watch over that tattoo and if she ever wants it removed I'll cough up the money, but she loves her ladybug and she was of age so that's when I had to start practicing backing off. Which wasn't easy, by the way. Anyway, I'm not going to write about all that right now. I prefer to save my tears until Wednesday.

(Side note to her: Sorry about revealing the tattoo, but that's payback for making me find out about it A YEAR LATER, rather than telling me in the first place. Love, your Aunt.)

What I've enjoyed most about her living with me, and I'll miss most about her absence, is her laughter. She laughs often and she laughs loud. She's honing her sense of humor and lately when she laughs I close my eyes and thank God for her happiness. She deserves it. I know that a small part of that happiness is because of the relationship we've forged, the trust we have and the guidance I've been able to provide. My relationship with her is one of which I'm very proud. In turn, she's taught me a few things. In indirect ways, she's reminded me to smile more often and love more freely. And every now and then I'm able to dismiss something that I previously would have clung to unnecessarily. In short, her influence on me has been one of balance. I've gained a bit of flexibility and freedom from watching her life. Freedom to hang on and freedom to let go. In a few short days, as she steps into her new life, I'll be doing both. Beneath my tears though, a big smile will reside. And isn't that exactly how it should be?