By Linda Leary

My daughter, Jen, had been gone for a week. She moved to San Francisco to begin a new adventure and a new life without me, and I had not entered her room since she left.

My baby girl was gone, forsaking the local college, her friends, and me, to move west seeking something I could not provide. My chest hurt and I could barely breathe when I watched her leave in that U-Haul, a frozen smile on my face and my hand in the air. "I cried 'til I got out of the city limits, Mom," Jen admitted later.

I cried off and on for a week, wrapped in a blanket, a box of tissues at my side and the cats on my lap.

I turned the doorknob and entered her room. Along with the dust bunnies were two boxes Jen had left. One was 'stuff' she wanted me to save and the other was 'stuff' she wanted to toss. I was curious about the contents of both so I plopped myself down and, with the cats, went exploring.

In the "toss" box were intricately folded notes from sixth and seventh grades. The notes were typical of pubescence like "Austin is really 'rad'", or "Donna can be such a b----" and "Mike is so-o-o cute; why does he like Trish who is a cow?"

The language was experimental and even crude in places, young teens jockeying for position in a difficult world of hormones, competition, role-playing, and puppy love. There were notebooks and artwork from grade school and junior high, clothes, and shoes evidently not 'cool' enough for San Francisco, stuffed animals, and a school library book at least 3 years overdue. There was a dried prom corsage, her cheerleader's megaphone and a box of old costume jewelry that I had given her when she was around six to play dress up. Some of this jewelry had been my mother's and I remembered how Jen looked all dressed up and bejeweled in one of my long dresses.

My heart filled, sweet with memories, until something shiny caught my eye. I pulled out a pair of 14-karat gold dangle earrings that were definitely mine. I thought I had lost those years ago. My little 'angel' must have 'borrowed' them and then tossed them into her junk jewelry box. At that age, she did not know gold from tin, but I remember she loved my gold dangles and I had refused her permission to play with them.

The 'save' box contained yearbooks, photos, and birthday cards she considered special enough to save. I found her school letter from varsity, diving trophy, a little gold heart necklace from her grandparents, and a stuffed dog that rarely left her side as a young child. She had packed some favorite books, including her diaries; and no, I did not open them. I remember my mother read one of mine once, and I felt terribly invaded. Unless you believe your child's life is in danger, physically or emotionally, these are best left alone. I do admit; I was intensely curious about her junior year.

It was cathartic sitting in Jen's room, and I felt better. I realized it was her time to go, though not necessarily my idea of the right time. I later painted her room and converted it to a guest room, which Jen uses when she returns.

She blossomed in San Francisco. She faced fears, accepted challenges and gained confidence. We had great phone conversations those first months as she adjusted to the big city, a new job, new friends, and being self-sufficient.

Our relationship matured. My daughter still needed me, but in a different way. Often she surprised me with her wisdom, offering advice I wished had been mine. I let her go, not completely, but in healthy bits and pieces. She was my life for such a long time; in some ways I lived vicariously through her until she advised, "Mom, it's time to find your own adventures."

Now 28 and married, Jen is my bright star. When she needs a mother, I turn on my 'mommy' ears and listen. She comes to visit, and we sit and rub each other's feet and tell stories. I look forward to the child this amazing young woman will produce if so blessed. I have a 'son' who calls me Mom; and I am creating my bliss though a medium I never thought possible, writing.

My eggs are long gone, but one egg made it, hatched, and is living proof that miracles do happen. As for my empty nest, well, it has been cleaned out, and rearranged to suit another special someone these days – me.