Letting Go
Ella Brockway
"Move back, Mom," says the stocky four-year- old perched on the edge of the diving board. "I want to jump far."
It's second nature for a mother to protect her child, and we all, at times, have found ourselves holding those apron strings a bit too tight. The following is a personal essay about how difficult-and essential-it is for a parent to let a child have the chance to experience life to its fullest after facing a serious medical emergency.
Three years ago my daughter Ella underwent open-heart surgery to correct a congenital heart defect. Today her delicate scar is fading, but I have such powerful memories that I sometimes find myself setting unnecessary and unhealthy limitations and restrictions. I'm smart enough to know that it's time to let her go, to replace the image of the tiny, naked body connected to beeping monitors with the current reality of the confident preschooler telling me to leave the room and "go with the other moms." From swimming lessons to preschool, we're facing new challenges together. And I'm learning that just as it was my responsibility to hold her tightly in those long days and nights right after the surgery, it's now my responsibility to let her find her own way.
I have spent the past ten years as a publicist for Columbia University, New York University, and The New York Public Library. Most recently, I have been spending my days promoting the science experiments, scribbles, and songs of my daughters Ella, 4, and Abigail, 1.
Kim Brockway
Ella Brockway"Move back, Mom," says the stocky four-year- old perched on the edge of the diving board. "I want to jump far."
It's second nature for a mother to protect her child, and we all, at times, have found ourselves holding those apron strings a bit too tight. The following is a personal essay about how difficult-and essential-it is for a parent to let a child have the chance to experience life to its fullest after facing a serious medical emergency.
Three years ago my daughter Ella underwent open-heart surgery to correct a congenital heart defect. Today her delicate scar is fading, but I have such powerful memories that I sometimes find myself setting unnecessary and unhealthy limitations and restrictions. I'm smart enough to know that it's time to let her go, to replace the image of the tiny, naked body connected to beeping monitors with the current reality of the confident preschooler telling me to leave the room and "go with the other moms." From swimming lessons to preschool, we're facing new challenges together. And I'm learning that just as it was my responsibility to hold her tightly in those long days and nights right after the surgery, it's now my responsibility to let her find her own way.
I have spent the past ten years as a publicist for Columbia University, New York University, and The New York Public Library. Most recently, I have been spending my days promoting the science experiments, scribbles, and songs of my daughters Ella, 4, and Abigail, 1.
Kim Brockway