Adulthood...

Hey Bean, it's your Dad,

I know it's been a while since I wrote to you, but life kind of gets in the way of things. One day bleeds into the next, and I have never been the best at consistency (shocker I know), but that doesn't mean I am not thinking about you. I don't know what I expected when you left home. I don't think I ever really gave it much thought until you did. I wasn't prepared for the feeling of something being missing and definitely wasn't ready for all the fear that comes with letting you go out into the world. In a way being a parent is a mixed blessing. On one hand, you have a person in your life that brings you endless amounts of joy, but on the other, you also experience a fear that no one can really explain to you until you feel it yourself.

I have always tried not to let fear be the thing that makes decisions for me as a person or a parent. I feel like fear stops people from doing things far more than it will ever keep them safe. I didn't want to raise you to be scared, I wanted to raise you to be brave, strong, tough. When I look at all you have achieved, I feel like I accomplished that. The problem is that while I was successful, it's the exact thing that makes me afraid. When I hear about you wanting to go to Tanzania, one part of me is excited about you getting experiences and loving that you want to help the world. However, another part of me feels fear, and sometimes that's the part that wins. When I feel afraid I tend to get angry, I bristle, I bare my teeth and bark because I want the fear to go away. I wish that didn't happen, I wish I was better about it, but no one is perfect I suppose.

I struggle the most with this fear of losing you. I can't possibly describe how horrified I was when you were sick with a brain tumor. I could write a thousand blog posts simply on that topic and not even scratch the surface of the sheer terror the thought of losing you invoked within me. The hours I spent using every bit of my effort to put on a brave face, to make you feel safe, to love you as deeply and as well as I could are beyond counting. To this day I have never felt something come so close to driving me to the brink of utter despair. Then as you got better, as you healed, as you grew and blossomed into the wonderful young woman you are today, I started to let go of the fear a bit, started to trust that you would be okay. Sure, we had some bumps on the way, but overall you did well with them. Then came a whole new fear. You left home.

That first night after you left, when I thought about you alone and in your dorm room. When I felt a gaping hole in my life, I cried. I don't cry often, but that night I cried like a baby. While some of those tears were shed out of sorrow and fear, they were also shed out of exaltation and fierce pride that my daughter was finally making her way out into the world. While part of me wanted to tell you that college wasn't a big deal, you really should just come back home. Another part of me knew that you needed to spread your wings and find your way on your own. My little girl had grown up.

That night I remembered when you would hold my pinky finger as we walked. I remembered the times you would hide behind me when someone you didn't know was talking to me. I remembered so many things about you and all of them were beautiful and wonderful, but gods I missed you so damn much. I still miss you, and I will always miss you.

While I will always miss you, I hope you never let that stop you from striding out and doing what you want to do. I know at times I tend to react poorly to your choices. Get used to it, I'm your Dad, I earned a right to not always be happy with things. While I hope that you would want to come to see me want to spend time with me, I also understand the world is a great big place and I want you to feel free to explore it. I will not promise that I will always be okay with it, because there will be times I won't be, but I can promise I will always love you.

When I'm growling or barking, try to remember that's just the fear coming out. Realize that I'm scared to death of losing my little girl. While I rationally accept that you are your own person, and I am so proud of who you have become, I can't ever let go of that feeling of your tiny little hand around my finger. While I know in my head you're an adult, in my heart your that little baby I held in my arms through the first night of your life so mommy could rest. I knew then that someday I would have to watch you leave me, and just like I did when you first left home, I cried. I cried because I knew that someday this helpless little baby would be someone who didn't need me anymore. I cried because the single most wonderful thing I would ever accomplish would also be one of the most painful things I could experience. I knew that if I did my job right, someday that little baby would leave me. While I know I did my job right, and I know it's not my job anymore, I'm struggling a bit with all of that.

I will get used to it, I will learn lessons from it. I will do better with Jasmine, and by the time Jade leaves the house, I will be a pro at letting go. Unfortunately for you, you are my oldest, so your the one that bears the brunt of me figuring out how to Dad right. I have spent a lot of time talking about fear, but I also want to thank you.

Thank you, Bean, for being who you are. Thank you for being the unwilling victim of my parental mistakes and still achieving things. Thank you for growing into such a wonderful, amazing, strong woman. Thank you for every time you succeeded and filled my hear with pride. Thank you for all the wonder you have brought into my life. Most of all Bean, thank you for being able to go out into the world with your head held high, your jaw set in determination, and for never letting life keep you on the ground.

Sure, I'm having some issues with letting my little girl go. However, don't think for a moment I don't love the woman you are.

I love you Bean,

Dad