I raised an independent young lady who for the last 18 months in our home had lived a very independent life. She had a part-time job, friends and school activities that took her away during family meals and often arrived home in time for bed. She had gone on several school trips that took her overnight and even gone for a week at a time. She had been a fairly easy teenager to raise, not a partier, home early without a curfew.

So why was leaving her at college so hard? We were as prepared as parents could be, but the pain of the loss of her physical presence in our house was as physical as her birth. Passing her room before we left and stopping to turn out a light, it appeared so lifeless without her trademark mess all over the room. There were a few remnants of clothes, a half empty bottle of flavored water and a few abandoned stuffed animals. and that was it. Her childhood was left behind.

We all remained fairly stoic at the time of departure. We had our hugs, said our I love you's and if you need anything call's. We got in our vehicle, backed out of the parking space watching her walk away to the entrance of the dorm. Everything was ok. But then she turned and looked back at us one last time, and gave the same wave and look that she gave when she was five and heading off to the babysitter. That was my undoing.

So for the next two hours driving home, there were moments of sadness and a few tears. An overwhelming sense of loss was cast.

When we left her at school, we were under a time restraint as I had a commitment to read in church that night. As we drove to church, I finally told my husband how sad I was that she was gone. And then I said, but I guess that is the way it's supposed be. Wouldn't it be horrible to leave home and not have your parents miss you? He agreed.

I made it through church, but felt sad and distracted. And then there was this little miracle. While I sat on the altar waiting to read the second reading, her younger six-year- old sister scooted her way further down the pew, and stretched her neck until she could see me around the organ and she gave me the same beautiful little wave and smile that her older sister had given me hours before.

When I returned to the pew, I gave her sister a long embrace and touched her cheek, Remembering the smiles, hugs and waves of another girl, all grown-up miles away on her own, who was ready to challenge the world.

Learn more about this author, MJ Suttor.
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