She Flew…. I Grew…

I have always believed that children should see the world. I believe they should travel, make mistakes, get lost, meet people from different cultures, eat foods they can't pronounce, learn to solve problems without immediately calling Mom & Dad, and discover who they are when no one knows them as someone's daughter or son.

I've always said that our job as parents isn't to raise children who need us forever. It's to raise adults who don't. At least that's what I thought. Then my youngest daughter, Simran, was accepted for an internship in England. And suddenly, every bit of wisdom I'd preached to other parents became incredibly difficult to practice myself.

When our oldest daughter, Asmita, left for New York City at eighteen, I was excited for her. Of course I worried. Every parent does. But New York somehow still felt close. It was a two-hour flight. Same country.

Same language. If she ever needed us, we'd be there before she finished unpacking.

England felt different. There was an ocean between us. Different time zones. Different customs. Different everything.

For the first time in my life, I found myself wondering whether I was making the right decision by encouraging my child to go so far away. That surprised me. Because that's never been who I am. Then I realized something. My fear had very little to do with England. It had everything to do with grief.

When we lost Lilly, people often asked how I was doing. The honest answer was... I wasn't the same person anymore. Grief doesn't simply make you sad.

It quietly changes the way you love. It changes the way you say goodbye. It changes the way you wait for someone to text that they've arrived safely. It changes how loudly your heart beats when the phone rings unexpectedly. It changes the stories your mind tells you.

Before Lilly, I believed the world was mostly full of possibilities. After Lilly, I became painfully aware that it was also full of uncertainties. Part of me died with her. That isn't something dramatic I'm saying. It's simply the truth. Parents who have lost a child understand that life doesn't continue the same way.

It continues differently. The heart never grows back exactly as it was.

But here's what I also knew. I still have three beautiful children. Three dreams to encourage. Three lives to celebrate. Three futures to believe in. If one quarter of my heart left with Lilly, then the other three quarters belong to the children who are still writing their stories.

I refuse to let fear write those stories for them. So with a smile that hid a thousand worries, we packed Sim's bags.

We hugged her tighter than usual. We reminded her to call. Probably too often. And then...We let her go.

The first week wasn't easy. Every notification made my heart race. Had she eaten? Did she remember to lock her door? Was she lonely? Could she navigate the Tube? Was she making friends? Did she remember that in England people drive on the opposite side of the road? I probably checked the weather in London more often than I checked the weather in Atlanta.

Motherhood never retires. It simply adapts. Then something beautiful happened. The little girl who had always relied on us... Stopped relying on us. Not because she didn't need us anymore. Because she was discovering she could rely on herself. Every challenge became another layer of confidence. Every unfamiliar street became familiar. Every train ride made the city feel smaller. Every conversation made England feel a little more like home.

By the time my husband and I flew over to visit her, something had completely shifted. I thought we'd spend the week showing her around. Instead...She became our tour guide. Within just two weeks, she knew London like she'd lived there for years.

"This is the fastest Tube line."

"We should get off at the next stop."

"That café has the best coffee."

"You'll love this neighborhood."

She had favorite parks. Favorite pubs, coffee shops.

Favorite restaurants. Favorite walking routes. I remember quietly watching her. This confident young woman standing in front of us... Was this really our baby? The little girl who once couldn't find her shoes when they were sitting right beside her? The little girl who used to ask me what sweater matched her outfit?

Now she was confidently navigating one of the world's busiest cities. I wasn't watching my daughter become independent. She already had. I was simply witnessing it.

Then came one of my favorite memories. We got completely lost. Not because Sim didn't know where she was going. Because... I refused to listen to her.

Classic Mom.

"I'm pretty sure it's this way."

"No, Mom..."

"I know where I'm going."

"No...really."

Five minutes later...

We were hopelessly lost.

Sim just laughed. She didn't say, "I told you so."

She kind of rolled her eyes, smiled, took the lead, and guided us back. It was such a small moment. But one I'll never forget. How was my baby... Leading me? For over twenty years, I'd held her hand crossing streets. Now she was making sure I didn't get on the wrong Tube.

Life has a beautiful sense of humor. Just when you think you're teaching your children... You realize they're teaching you. The biggest surprise came when I visited her workplace. I expected to see my daughter.

Instead...I met a young professional. She was articulate. Confident. Curious. Engaged.

Where did this young woman come from? Then I realized...She had always been there. She just needed the chance to discover herself. Sometimes our children don't need us to tell them how capable they are. They need us to step aside long enough for them to prove it to themselves.

Then came the text every parent hopes for.

"Officially done with my internship!!!!!!!!"

"TIME TO CELEBRATE!"

And then...

"Mom and Papa—THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME COME EVEN THOUGH IT WAS UNPAID. It was genuinely the best experience of my life and I am soooo grateful for it... and my boss is so nice she followed me on Instagram."

I read it more than once. Not because her boss followed her. Although I know that made her smile.

I reread it because she understood something priceless. The value of this internship was never the paycheck. It was who she became because of it. Confidence. Independence. Resilience. Perspective

Those are the things no salary can buy. As parents, we spend years protecting our children from discomfort.

Then one day we realize...Discomfort is exactly where growth lives.

Had we kept Sim close because we were afraid, she might never have discovered what she was capable of.

And perhaps that's one of the hardest truths of parenting. Sometimes the biggest obstacle to our children's growth...Is our own fear.

To every mother sitting on the fence about letting your child study abroad, intern overseas, or move somewhere that feels impossibly far away...

I understand you.

Especially if you've experienced loss.

Especially if you've had your heart broken.

Especially if you're sending your youngest.

You will cry.

You will worry.

You'll check your phone far too often.

You'll remind them to eat vegetables.

You'll ask if they're wearing a jacket.

You'll wonder if they're getting enough sleep.

You'll secretly calculate how quickly you could get on the next flight if they ever needed you.

That's motherhood!

But don't let your fear become their ceiling. Because one day you'll visit them. And instead of seeing your little boy or little girl... You'll meet someone extraordinary. Someone who solved problems without you. Made friends without you. Built confidence without you. Created a life you never could have imagined. And you'll realize...

The world didn't take your child away. It gave them back stronger. Sim has one more year of college before the next chapter begins. And while part of me already dreads the next goodbye, a much bigger part of me is excited. Because now I know something I didn't know before England. Love isn't measured by how tightly we hold on. It's measured by whether we're willing to let go when it's time. Children don't stop needing us when they leave home. They simply need us differently.

Less as navigators. More as anchors. More as the place they know they can always come home to.

Looking back, I thought England was changing Sim.

In reality...It was changing me.

It reminded me that my role as a mother isn't to keep my children safe from every unknown. It's to give them roots strong enough to know where home is...

And wings strong enough to discover the world. Lilly taught me how precious life is. Sim reminded me that precious things aren't meant to be locked away. They're meant to be lived.

So fly, my sweet pea. See every country. Take every opportunity. Get lost once in a while. Trust yourself.

And if your mother occasionally insists she knows a better route through London...Smile, take her hand, and lead her anyway.

After all...You learned how to fly because we loved you enough to open the cage. ❤️