My oldest is graduating from high school, and it’s a mood, as the kids say. I’m the mood. I’m all the moods.
I’m excited for her foray into adulthood, nervous about the new challenges she’ll face, and just plain sad that I won’t get her morning reports about the day’s forecasted UV index.
What do I do, besides buy her an air fryer and hope for the best?
I wonder how the saints of big kids handled launching their children into the world. Maybe I should ask them.
Maybe you don’t need to say everything that comes to mind
If I could sit down with the holiest of dads, St. Joseph, to ask how he handled Our Lord heading off on His own, I imagine he’d encourage me to trust God . . . in silence.
When Jesus left the house and surrounded himself with a rather surprising collection of guys, St. Joseph took a wait-and-see approach.
If my child isn’t going in the direction I expected, maybe St. Joseph would say it’s best to hold my peace and wait to see what God is going to do with her life.
If my student suddenly switches majors from chemistry to cartography, maybe the head of the Holy Family can help me keep any negative thoughts about the plan to myself because I suppose I don’t know God’s plan for my child either.
Just because I struggle with geography to the extent that I’m a little fuzzy on where Michigan is doesn’t mean that my child couldn’t be the next great GPS app designer.
Maybe she could even create an encouraging driving directions app for people like her mom who always miss the turn.
“Don’t worry, this exit works too!”
Go ahead and meddle . . . with Grace
On the other hand, Our Lady took the opposite approach and felt the need to give her child a little nudge.
I wonder if Our Lady would tell me that it’s okay to gracefully meddle a bit at the Holy Spirit’s prompting.
Maybe my child isn’t ready to start changing water into wine, but maybe she does need to get a job.
I may have to intervene gently by putting her in touch with an uncle in engineering and telling her to do whatever her uncle says.
After all, the greatest adventure started with someone listening to their mom. Just ask Jesus.
Knowing how, when, and to what extent to insert myself into the equation is the million-dollar question, but maybe Mary would offer some prayers there too.
Keep in touch
St. Zélie Martin, St. Thérèse’s mom, wrote lots of letters to her older daughter when she was away at school.
St. Zélie would probably encourage me to keep in touch with my children after they’ve moved out.
The modern equivalent to letters might be texting funny memes, forwarding emails of haircut coupons, and, just for a smile, sending care packages in plastic containers shaped like trout, like I once received from my parents.
I suspect St. Zélie knew that since her daughter wasn’t a parent, she didn’t understand how often she thought of her throughout the day.
Following St. Zélie’s lead, I suppose my daughter would appreciate a trout now and then to remind her that she hasn’t fallen off my radar — as if that were even possible.
Follow them everywhere
If simply saying, “Make good decisions,” as my daughter heads out the door to the rest of her life makes me uneasy, then I might grab St. Monica and head right out the door with her.
St. Monica is a pro on tailing children, having followed her son, St. Augustine, across the Mediterranean when he was trying to give her the slip to avoid her constant pressure to give up his immoral life.
On the way, St. Monica can advise me on the logistics of how to follow someone to school, class, and work while praying that they stay close to the Lord.
I think she’ll be impressed with how easy the Find My app makes our job.
The closer we get to graduation, the more this option seems to be the most reasonable.
I’m still not sure how to handle this transition.
Maybe I’ll follow all of the saints’ examples to cover my bases.
I will keep my thoughts to myself as I prayerfully follow my daughter to her biochem class, lunch with a friend, and the corner table at the library . . . unless I see her grappling with a problem, at which point I’ll pop out from behind the bushes — gracefully — and tell her to Facetime her dad and do whatever he says and then I would text her that evening just to let her know I was still thinking about her since running into her by the shrubs.
I think I’ve got it. I’m going to do great.
Meg Matenaer is a wife, mom, social media writer, and author residing in the Diocese of Madison.