One hundred and sixty miles away

When we left Houston late Wednesday afternoon, it was raining. When we turned north from I-10 onto 71, it was still raining. And dark. That rain stayed with us all the way into Austin. It made a two and a half hour drive a bit edgy for me, with my eye equally split between the road and the rear view mirror checking to be sure that she was safely behind me.

Symbolically, I was thinking how the rain washes clean, how water renews.

Before we drove out, we visited Mom in the hospital. I've not seen my mother smile in months but when we stood beside her bed and told her that we were leaving to Austin, getting Cat registered and moved into her dorm at the university we all wanted her to attend, the smile on Mom's face was one so bright and pure and filled with love, that I will carry it my heart for the rest of my days.



Her dorm room was a sad site when we opened the door, like all dorm rooms are before move-in: grey and cold, waiting for personality to be taped, tacked and draped across it, waiting for life. And that it now has. In her usual way, she has made it her own. When she refered to the space as her new home, my heart lurched. But then she gave me her full moon eyes when I left her to sort through what she didn't want my help with, the same huge eyes she gave me when I took her on her first Merry-Go-Round. It'll be fun Peanut! Fear and excitement. Hanging on, moving forward, letting go.

In her wallet is her student ID and her class schedule. In my wallet is the receipt for dorm, meal plan and tuition. It is pressed against the receipts from Target and Linens and Things and the campus bookstore. In her wallet, her class schedule. On the back of my car, a decal of her school letters.



Last night we had big plans to hit 6th Street but I am no longer an eager 20-year old on the weekend before 2nd semester sophomore year, so at 6:30 when I realized I am instead age-appropriately drained from all our activities of the day, I called her and we decided it best that she come to the hotel and we have room service and watch a movie. Which we did. An obscene brownie for her, herb chicken for me. A bit of champagne (me) and a bit of Dr. Pepper (her). The movie? Jackass II. She laughed; I cringed. When she left, I hugged her a little longer than our usual hug length. For old time's sake, I asked her to call when she got home so that I'd know she got home safely. We laughed. Ten minutes later, she called.

This morning we went for breakfast and then to the Farm to Market organic grocery store near her school. She walked through the store happy and relieved to find all her favorite organic and vegetarian brands, and smiling at the fresh produce and fresh flowers. Two Gerber Daisies later, we returned to campus. As we drove along the winding drive up the hill to her dorm, I wondered what I would do in the next moments. Would I cry? Would I bite my lip? I had no idea.



What we did was walk to her dorm's front door, arms around each other. I reminded her to enjoy this time, to show her colors, to work hard. I told her that her family loves her, and that her Grandfather would be very proud of her, and to remember how very much he adored her. Then I held her face in my hands, looked her in the eyes and told her I loved her and I believed in her. And then I kissed her cheek and let her go.

And walked down the hill to my car with a smile on my face as big and wide as the Texas sky above me.