I probably spent more time with Molly this summer than any summer before.
First, I wasn't running off to work every day. That, of course, is nothing to brag about, but the absence of work certainly opened up some new opportunities for me (such as spending time with my family).
Second, Molly and I went to the gym together almost every day. Even though we didn't always work out together, we had lots of time in the car to talk. And we did that almost every day.
Sometimes our conversations were pretty light, even silly. But often we talked about important and weighty things. Molly has a great mind and she is a joy to talk with. I'm past the point of trying to convince her of my views. Now, I just want to hear what she's thinking. I learned quite a bit from her this summer.
Right now I'm sitting in Molly's living room at Sarah Lawrence. We moved her into her new apartment this morning. The heat is oppressive, and we're exhausted. Julie and Molly are in the kitchen making some meals for the week ahead.
And it dawns on me this very moment that we are only moments away from another one of those painful good-byes.
I thought that this one might be easier - because we've done this before.
I am afraid, however, that this one will be especially difficult. After all, I'm saying good-bye to my daughter, my pride and joy, my dear friend . . . and, this year, my beloved conversation partner as well.
I hope Molly has a wonderful year. One thing is certain - I will miss our great talks. Oh I know . . . we can talk on the phone any time. But it won't be quite the same. I'm not sure exactly how I will drive to the gym every day . . . without that delightful young woman sitting in the next seat.
How does it happen that our kids turn into adults? And how does that happen almost overnight? And how is it possible to have such joy and pride - and such pain - in the same moment?