I don't know what to do with your stuff

Dear Gemma,
I don't know what to do with your stuff.
I don't know what you need and what you don't need; what you want and what you don't want.

I've spent a lot of time in your room today, trying to keep it as your room but also making it practical for guests to sleep in there. As you've proved in the last few months, there's not a lot there you really need, although when I go in there and look at the room, it looks like you've just popped out and will be back soon. It looks like everything is relevant and current, and yet I know a lot of it is not because you've spent months coming and going and not missing it all.

It's a strange place to be, knowing that you will be living somewhere else but that this will still be your family home. And it's a weird emotional mix being so sad that you will no longer be living with us but so happy that you have found love and contentment. I couldn't tell you at the weekend how much I didn't want you to go because it felt wrong to be sad - to make you feel guilty even for breaking my heart. But I don't want to tell you that I'm happy for you to be going either.

The truth is not simple and how could a parent's emotions be simple at this time? But what I want to say is that I am truly truly delighted and proud and content with how your life is going right now. You are a good, kind, sweet, intelligent, loving girl. You have your own unique and independent path in life, and been brave, imaginative and determined. You have found the love and commitment that you have always deserved, and we are really excited about your latest adventures.
You are great company and we love having you around. Tonight we watched My Sister's Keeper and I know you would have watch it with us. I cried so hard and not just because of the content of the film but because of the love between a mother and her daughter and I knew you would have told me off for getting emotional and told me it was only a film.

The change in our life and in our family is tangible already. The change in shape from five to four is noticeable. The placemats at the table are symmetrical, and the shopping takes up fewer bags. I've been gradually getting used to your absence like a long goodbye. But having to deal with the thought that you may never want or need to live with us fulltime again when tidying your room today has filled me with such strong emotions and brought back so many memories. I want to know that you will sit on your bed and play your guitar again, that you will yell at Joel to shut up when you are trying to sleep, I want to do your washing and see it hanging alongside everyone else's and know you are still part of us.
Your art stuff, your college stuff, your books from Narnia and Harry Potter, through Manga and teen fiction to Stephen King and John Irving lay testament to not only your years of reading, your vast interests, and your thirst for books but also to the speed at which you grew up. I wanted to leave everything just as it is and pretend you will be back later.

Instead I have had to make a switch in my brain today and that is that you will be back and it is not for us to say when that will be or for how long. Just that we will always be here for you and you will always be welcome. It sounds simple and obvious but it's quite a big thing to do.

Being a parent is not about letting go or cutting ties but about holding on differently.

Fly safely, baby. Come back to us soon.


Blue Teddy says 'Hi.'