I’ve been known to wax melodramatic on many a subject (don’t get me started), but it’s hard not to go there when every other exchange between my daughter and I involves, “When you’re away next year…”
I can’t help but read heartbreaking finality into every gesture, every event, every moment.
Obviously the fact that this is my last child in her last days of high school going to a last prom is indisputable. I will never again drive a child to or from school, will never wander school halls to admire a child’s work or speak to a teacher, will never again meet and host all their various friends. I knew it was coming, but then––like everything with your kids––one can never fully prepare.
So today I bought what will undoubtedly be the last pair of high heels for my daughter.
|The last size 8s, in the last store we had time to check, on our last shopping spree: the exact pair she'd imagined|
With university costs and expensive equipment requirements for both girls, it’s unlikely our daughters will enjoy any more frivolous shopping sprees courtesy of their parents. No, I see more winter boots in their futures, more sensible coats, apartment accessories, food of course, camera equipment and fabric bolts, even hats and mitts and scarves and shirts, but we may in fact have just purchased the last pair of strappy heels for a female member of the household that is not me. Sigh.
(Bright side reflection: every future pair of sexy shoes we buy will be all MINE…)
Deb: Oh Barb, this was so beautiful. The idea of the last pair of shoes resonates with me. Since our boy has been in New York, some three years now, he more and more will not allow us to pay for things when he needs something. When he has to, he will cave. But usually he chooses to live independently. So I know what you are going through.
And although you will not be able to buy that pair of strappy goodness, you WILL be able to say, “Hey, since you’re in town, why don’t we go shoe shopping together?” And when you do, maybe you will treat, or maybe she will.
Or maybe neither of you will find anything worthy of your money. And you will be left with simply a glorious day together. Such is the crapshoot of adult children.