A Reader Writes

On Letting Go…

A mother’s simple letter to her daughter, written from the heart, as she leaves for college.

Karen Hardie’s daughter, Caitlin, finished her freshman year at UW-Stevens Point last spring, where she studies music and journalism. These are Karen’s ramblings as her daughter began college life last fall.

By Karen Hardie

The letting go is pretty hard. I’ll pretend that it isn’t.

I tried so hard to be tough as we packed up your things and drove you to Stevens Point. I won’t miss hauling boxes up three flights of dorm stairs in 90-degree weather, but I will miss you. The letting go is hard but I’ll pretend that it isn’t.

On our way home we stopped for supper. I must have been quite a sight. Good thing no one knows me there. I tried to dab my red eyes in the bathroom. It didn’t help.

Let’s go back 18 years, Caitlin. You were a tiny six-pound, curly haired baby. You were breech and arrived two weeks early. It was a bit scary. We made it.

Tom Cruise, I used to like you. But postpartum depression is real. When I lost my brother while I was pregnant, the pain was deep. There were lots of days and nights after you were born when I was just barely hanging on. I remember getting so frustrated one day, I threw a sandwich across the room. All I wanted was for you to get bigger soon. Taking care of a baby was 24/7 hard work.

I remember sending you to kindergarten. You threw up all over the bus and hallway. When the nurse called me to come and get you, she gave me a really bad parenting look. I was mad because I had to miss work.

The letting go is hard but I’ll pretend that it isn’t.

I did the best that I could. And look at you now. You’re a beautiful independent young woman, not afraid to go off to college alone. Never be afraid to take chances. They are always worth taking. Even when they don’t work out, they make you stronger.

When you called in the first few weeks, I could hear the fear in your voice. Your schedule was messed up, you had a cold, your scholarship was sent in late. Welcome to the real world! You handled it all by yourself. Still, I wish I could keep you safe. We are all so fragile…

You don’t live here anymore. You have a different home now. The tears come again.

The house is cleaner. No more papers, clothes, and general mess all over. When I walk by your empty room, I shut the door. Every day is tough.

I miss you. I’ll miss your music; no one plays the piano anymore. It sits silent. I’ll miss your cooking, the shower and internet fights with your sister, our trips to the gym. It’s quiet now. You’re not yelling at Craig to stop pitching in the hallway (sometimes that ball hurts).

The letting go is pretty hard. I’ll pretend that it isn’t.

When you came home for the weekend, I couldn’t help but see a difference in you already. You have made new friends and are having fun. I can hear the happiness in your voice.

Be a good, kind person. Set your goals high. Find a job that you enjoy. Remember the kindness of your boss here in Holmen. Remember the faith your grandparents have taught you. It will bring you peace. Remember we love you, are proud of you.

Emily says in “Our Town,” my favorite play, that it all goes so fast. Really take it all in. You’re not afraid of the world. Let life be your wings, Caitlin, and fly.

Karen Hardie lives in Holmen with her husband, Burce, and two other children, Christine, 15, and Craig, 9. “I didn’t think saying goodbye would be so emotional,” she says. “The words just came pouring out.”

Caitlin returned home for the summer, proving that while our roles as parents may change as our children age, we’re always Moms and Dads.