Not many people give birth to their best friend. Not their BFF. I make that declaration with relative confidence because about half of the people in the universe are male and can't have babies, so that increases the chances of my introductory statement being accurate and true. I am one of the lucky ones; my daughter is my best friend.
October is quickly approaching. It has to be one of my favorite months. Fall is in full swing, leaves are changing colors and floating to the ground, the air is cooler, and two of my babies were born in October. October 27, 1989, the most beautiful baby girl came into this world, and she was my very own.
Long story short; the baby girl grew up to become a beautiful woman, and she flew the coop; flew all the way to Denver. I'm so happy for her. Sierra has what it takes to make it on her own. Since she has left home, she has signed apartment contracts, bought a car by herself, secured gainful employment with a wonderful dermatologist, and made many new friends. I admire her attitude and persistence from a distance. And darn it, I miss her.
When she calls me, I hear it in her voice. She misses home, and she misses me. There's a faint glimmer deep inside of me that always wishes some day she will miss us all so much she will come back to stay. But she won't. How can I know this? I was the baby bird who flew away from my nest once upon a time.
As much as my heart ached for home and family, I had a new home. Virginia was the land of my childhood; Utah became the land of my choosing. Once I made that choice, and had children of my own in this glorious desert, I knew I would never leave here. Did it mean I loved my family less? No, if anything, I loved them even more across the miles.
So now I not only have to comfort the heartache of missing my parents, brothers, and sisters, but the even greater pain of missing my baby girl. I cherish the pleasant memories of the times we've had together. I relish the text messages, phone calls, and Facebook updates. I take heart in knowing her absence does not represent a lack of devotion or love. I am proud that I had a part in raising a child independent enough to stand on her own, to make a life for herself without my needing to be the "mother hen."
Sierra, if you are reading this, Mama Llama loves her Schmierra Pierre. You bring so much light and joy to everyone you know. I am so happy for you, my sweet baby bird. Even though you've grown and spread your wings, you will always be my baby girl. I love you, and even though I miss you so much it hurts, I wouldn't change a thing.