Tales from a Mid-Lifer

I laid in bed, silently grumbling that I was awake at 5:30am and didn’t need to be on that particular Friday morning. My eldest daughter was getting ready for work upstairs and I wondered if her Shark hair styler woke me. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, hoping for a second sleep.

A moment later, I realized it was the last morning that she would leave for work from our family home. She had moved back to New York after a year in Dallas, which I mentioned in a previous post. Prior to that, she lived in Florida for a short time before Covid sent her home to work remote. She is our adventurer.

That morning was her first half-day Friday for summer Fridays, and I was excited for her. Back in the early 1990’s when I entered the workforce, there was no such thing as remote work, hybrid, business-casual, nor summer Fridays. I drove into the city like many other women, wearing a skirt or dress, hose, heels, full makeup and hair done – and other than an exact 30-minute lunch, there were no breaks and most of us worked past 5pm.

Pushing aside my mental reminiscing, I quickly got out of bed to get ready for the day.

By the time she eventually came downstairs to leave, I had prayed, walked outside tending to a few plants and stopped to stare at her car in the driveway. Monday morning at this time, it would be parked in an assigned spot outside her new apartment building.

Walking back into the house, I was met with her gliding down the stairs like she had the last five months of being back home, wearing an adorable outfit, packing up her gym bag and coffee thermos. Thermos seems like a silly word these days, but what do you call an insulated, brightly colored, floral Starbucks thermos? When I was her age, “thermos” was the opposite of sleek and shiny. I brought it to work for lunch containing soup…my mind wandered back in time again, marveling that decades had passed since I brought soup in a thermos to work.

Gathering her things off the bench, she looked up, her eyes pleading. “Do my bangs look alright? They just seem so choppy… without flow or movement or something.”

I smile, giving her an honest-girl answer. “Yes, they really do. Last night when we were watching funny videos before bed, I was admiring how pretty your new layers look.” The child has waist-long hair, the thickest of all the kids. Thank God, her locks are courtesy of my husband’s DNA.

“Can you take this?” She hands me her half-drunk cup of coffee, slinging the huge bag onto her shoulder, reaching for car keys.

Though only 60-degrees, it was a full-sun morning as I held open the door for her, walking out together, me still holding the half-empty mug. We hugged, exchanging I love you’s as she climbed into the car. Putting on sharp sunglasses, she moved down the long driveway.

As her car turned onto the street that Friday morning, my nose tingled, throat tightened, and tears quietly spilled, knowing I was experiencing another ‘last time’. The blessing is, this time she remains local.

The following day, we moved her into a lovely apartment and I began adjusting to the empty nest… all over again.

When the Adult Kids Move Back Home, Must Mom and Dad Step it Back Up?

And So She Flew….