And just like that, my baby girl gets in a car by herself and drives off without me or her father instructing her on how to drive, where to go, or the rules of the road.  She has passed all of her written and driving tests, and completed the many hours of necessary time behind the wheel, learning all there is to know about driving a vehicle.  And yet, here I am still a nervous wreck. I felt this same way when my son got his driver’s license and he sped away the first time from our home eager to meet up with friends and enjoy this newfound freedom.  But, somehow, it hits a bit different when it’s the baby of the family.  Plus, she’s a girl so my anxiety is elevated.  Oftentimes, my mind goes to the worst case scenario.  When she tells me she is running to the mall, instantly I play every possible bad thing that can happen through my head from kidnapping to human trafficking to a car accident, etc.  And something tells me this won’t end until I am on the other side of heaven.  Baby girls will always be baby girls to their mamas, I suppose.

Along with her driver’s license, Grace has also acquired a new job.  We are so proud of her as she has been diligent in her school studies, and now making her own money.  She has a new circle of friends God has blessed her with from school and Youth Group.  All really good, normal things that we have prayed for regarding this stage of her teenage years.  But, deep down, I am struggling.  Our late-night talks together are now replaced with friend time and work shifts.  Before she could drive, I was happy to be her chauffeur because I knew we would have our mother/daughter time with deep conversations, Starbucks stops, and her having me listen to the latest songs released by her favorite artists.  Her wings have gotten a bit bigger and she is now flying higher and away from me.  And somehow, I have to reconcile this shift in our relationship, yet I have no idea how.

After my husband departed for work this morning and Grace left for school, I sat down at the table and began writing this blog.  As I typically do, I kept checking Life360 to make sure she had gotten to school safely, and as I watched the miles between us grow in number on the app, I began to weep.  I came to the realization that I think I have come to the loneliest stage of motherhood.  And I don’t like it. 

When our son left for the mission field in 2023 after graduation, it was horribly hard, but I still had Grace at home and all of my focus could then be on her.  My motherhood duties were ongoing and my time was well spent making sure Grace had everything she needed, which in part was me.  Now, I am not needed as much, and if I am being honest, I am also not as wanted.  Teenagers turn to their friends or to the attention of the opposite sex because parents just aren’t as “cool” or “understanding.”  I get it.  I was a teenager once, too.  All of this is what my mom friends who have grown kids told me would happen.  I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still feels like the loneliest place on Earth.  When the baby of the family is the last to launch, there is an ache in a mama’s heart that hits with a powerful punch that can only be described as searing.  The pain is immense because it feels as though we are being abandoned, rejected, and bereft.  It is a sad state to sit in. 

When I write, epiphanies often come to me as I draft my feelings on paper (or type them in Microsoft Word).  It is healing and I am grateful I have an outlet to do so.  This morning, as I titled this blog “There She Goes,” an epiphany struck my psyche.  I actually think this title doesn’t mean there Grace goes, but there Ann goes.  There goes my last shred of the motherhood I have reveled in.  There goes my “job” that I have had for over 16 years now with her and have absolutely loved.  I don’t want to resign from that position.  I don’t want to be “fired.”  I want to keep going, but I can’t.  So, I feel as though there goes my identity.  There goes everything I have worked so hard for falling through my fingers.  It is difficult to process.  It’s hard to find a new identity.  I know I am still “Mom,” but it’s not what it once was.  It’s not seeing my kids as often as I would like.  It’s not being consulted anymore on life issues.  This form of motherhood seems more vacant.  More sparse.  More empty. 

As Mother’s Day approaches, I am coming at it a bit leery.  My own mother and mother-in-law have both passed away and are no longer here.  My daughter works all day on Sunday, and my now-married son also has another mother to factor in, so I will be sharing him with his new family.  I miss the days when my kids would make me homemade cards from school and wake me up with breakfast in bed.  When their little voices would tell me how much they love me and that I am the best mother in the world with endless hugs and kisses.  I was their everything and now I am just another someone. 

So, to all the moms out there getting close to becoming a true empty nester, I see you and feel you.  I share your tears and grief.  I understand the longing and yearning to go back in time to when everything felt right and whole.  When our roles were fulfilling and meaningful, but now feel cracked, broken, and uncertain.  When our purpose was known and our reason for existing were these tiny, little kids who took up every space in our hearts and still do.  I fully sympathize and empathize with you in this season of motherhood.  I don’t have any answers on how to maneuver this, but I just wanted to acknowledge your pain and let you know you are not alone.  I recognize your sadness, and I am praying for us as we quietly come to terms with not only our children moving on, but our own identities, as well.  There they go, ladies.