PenPenWrites

I spent a weekend with Alpha Daughter and her daughter. Alpha had to take part in a conference at a college that was a 4-hour drive from my home and two airplane flights from hers. She did not wish to be parted from her child for yet another weekend; her husband couldn't get away. I offered to meet her at the college, babysit by day and be there for a friendly visit in the evening. I drove there by myself [paterfamilias did not wish to partake] and it was unnerving–I was driving into unknown territory and it is hard to read a map when you're at the wheel and you want to double check those directions. In any case, I got there–rattled but I arrived. So did she–after several flight delays. So we weren't off to the best of starts.

The weekend wasn't easy. None of us were on familiar ground. But we made it through without any major meltdowns. Then came the time to part. I drove her to the little airport that serves the college town and told her to run inside and see if her flight was on time. In she went and out she came: the flight would be delayed; no one knew how long. It had yet to leave the airport from whence it was supposed to cometh. If that flight was late, she would miss her connecting flight and then… and then?

That was her problem. Here was mine. Stay or go? If i stayed, I could always drive her to our home and put her on a direct flight to her city. This is what I was thinking as she unloaded her bags and her daughter. I hesitated. The urge to protect was surging. Should I park the car and wait with her to make sure everything was OK? Or should I drive off–I had a four hour drive ahead of me and had to go to work the next day. What to do?

Reader, I left: Helped her get the bags out of the car; kissed my little Grand goodbye and started the journey home. With a heavy heart. Anxious. Uneasy. But here was the comfort I took: I reminded myself that Alpha daughter is a grown woman with a child. She will handle whatever happens. It's my maternal instinct kicking in that made me want to provide and protect. But she has that instinct now–for herself and her child.

I was reminded of this feeling when I read a piece in the New York Times by Michelle Slatalla, in which she describes how her college-age daughter on a trip to Haiti to do volunteer work becomes ill–sick enough to need intravenous fluids. The mother's first instinct is to fly to her side–but it's not really possible at that moment. As the daughter starts to recover, she calls and asks her mother whether she should come home. She wants to but doesn't want to. What should she do, she asks her mother? "Stay" Slatalla says, though she agonizes over the decision. "There's nothing that instructs parents on exactly how and when to let go," the mother writes. "No guidebook that says how much or how far to push."

Hers was clearly a closer call than mine. A younger child; a situation more fraught with danger. But the feeling at the core is the same: The need, the desire, the urge to take care of our children–even when they are grown up and leading independent and successful lives.