We to Me

My daughter comes home in 23 hours. I have not been in her presence for 5 long months (22 weeks to be exact). Seasons have come and gone and there's been an ache that runs through all their beauty.
I always cut my I-teeth on Avonlea.
We've been preparing for her arrival home, planning surprises and Rowan looks at me and says, "You know that by the time I come home from college, you'll probably forget to pick me up at the airport." I exclaim that I'll be just as excited over him and make a mental note to carefully write down his flight times, because he has a point.
But there was 18 years with Avonlea, all chock full of her quirkiness and laughter. There's just no one like her in the world.
She had a wonderful semester in New Zealand. She said "yes" to whatever people invited her to do (thank God she was at a Bible College!). She ran a 4K (in jeans), learned to ride a unicycle, learned to play volleyball and basketball, led English Country dances, and wrote amazing papers. She met all kinds of interesting people and grew so much in her faith. I am so proud of her.
She entered the tunnel of "we" becoming "me". When she left, she thought in terms of "we". She was a portion of a whole, the "whole" being our family. When she got to school and people asked her questions about what kind of movies she liked, etc. she'd reply, "We like...". Inevitably that got weird and it slowly changed. Of course she's still a beloved part of our family, but she is forming her own independent me-ness, and it's good. We're certainly not about to ride unicycles as a family unit, however, her me-ness expands our family not contracts it.
When I got into bed tonight I said to Dave, "I don't think I can sleep, Avonlea is coming!"
I realized later that I had said those same words 18 1/2 years ago when I was trying to get some rest as my labor was starting. We give birth to the same child several times over in our life. We feel the labor pains and we disregard them in the joy of creation. Our lives adjust to the child's arrival, their growth, their challenges, their passions. Various internal parts of us grow pregnantly round and stretch taut. Our children metamorphosis and change utterly and end up almost unrecognizable. Almost.
Today a poem that I wrote when she was born came into my mind.

Her cry broke the silence
a thousand years thick
Time fell like rain
frenzied and quick
A life wound up tight
has now been let go
What direction will it jettison
is what we none know

Well now I know. She jettisoned toward truth and beauty and music and nature and ultimately toward her creator God. She is a blessing, and I would go through the birth process again for her in a minute. And I probably will.

My daughter comes home in 22 hours.
I always cut my I-teeth on Avonlea.
There's just no one like her.