Each one, teach one

Katie reports she's eaten kangaroo and emu, explored Sydney's public transportation system, and discovered that a 12-pack of diet coke costs $15.

When I was in Minneapolis helping her get ready, I had a sudden flash that every minute we'd ever spent together had been leading to the one where she got on that plane. And every minute after will be leading to the one where she walks away from scattering my ashes.

Might sound morbid, but it's not.

My job, since the moment our caseworker placed that 5-week-old, little bald darling in my arms, has been to help her move away from me into her own life. The real purpose of everything I've taught her, everything we've done together, is to prepare her for life on her own.

We've built beautiful memories, my girl and I. We've had excitement and laughter, happiness and tears. We've faced down some really scary shit together. We've had crazy fun. We've learned.

On Wednesday morning, she handed me a small sewing kit and a new pair of jeans. Without a thought, I hemmed them. When I finished, I looked up and laughed. "Last pair I do for you," I said, "Next time it's your turn."

"But you always hem things for me," she said.

"Yeah, but you're going to need to do it for your kids some day. Might as well learn while I can help."

And there it was, the thing that's been my job all along: to teach her what I can, while I can, so she can pass the same things to her own children one day.

The goal of mothering is to make myself redundant. I can live with that.

So can she.

...Go!

Katie is on a plane now, bound for San Francisco and then Sydney. We spent most of the past 96 hours shopping and packing, checking and rechecking her to-do and packing lists. We signed up for Skype and tested it. Watched a couple movies together. Sniped at each other once or twice.

She promised to call from San Francisco. I'll stay awake, just to say hello.

Early Tuesday morning a friend, my best friend in the world, and I went to the MN Arboretum while Katie slept. We drove the 3-mile loop to see everything, then parked the car and walked through our favorite areas. We walked along, mostly together but not always. We talked a lot, but not constantly. We noticed things, some of which we pointed out to one another.

We've seen one another in person only a small handful of times in the last three years, maybe 5 or 6, but it doesn't matter. We say hello and immediately fall into the rhythm, the deep comfort, of being with someone who knows the best and worst about you and can be trusted with the truth of your life. We don't need to live in the same city, not even in the same state, to remain in one another's hearts.

Good to remember while my girl flies halfway cross the world.

Ready...Set...

She's almost ready, this daughter of mine. Her bags are mostly packed, her to-do lists marked off. Her nerves are frayed and her spirits dampened.

She's going to do this thing. In less than 24 hours, she'll be in an airport, alone, headed for another life on another continent. And she's scared. Can't remember why this sounded like a good idea. Wonders if there's any way to get out of it.

I'm pretty sure Katie will get on the plane tomorrow. She'll land in Sydney, Australia 22 hours later, ready to spend 6 weeks working in marketing for an international environmental agency. She'll make new friends and see new things. She'll laugh and cry, be despondent and filled with elation, by turns. I'll bet that, 6 weeks from now, coming home will feel as incomprehensible as leaving does right now.

As her mother, I'm scared for her and for myself. I'm also so proud I can barely contain myself. She'll find her way, this girl of mine. She's got good, strong wings, strong enough to carry her wherever she wants to go. And home again, thank God.