People tell me, “She’ll come back to you.” I hold onto those words like a lifeline, repeating them in my head when the silence between us stretches too long, when my invitations to coffee go unanswered, when the closest I get to connection is wiring you money for a quick treat with your best friend. Of course, I’m glad to do it, and I’m glad you’re living your life. I just didn’t expect it to be quite like this.
I know this phase is normal. I know you’re trying on different versions of yourself, seeing which one fits. I know you want to be seen as independent, grown, in control. But from my side, it feels like I’m watching you slip away, trading the softness of childhood for a hardened edge of knowing-it-all, pushing me away, barely looking up when you pass through the kitchen on your way to something more interesting. I know I embarrass you. I know I worry too much. I know I’m not your first choice anymore. But still, I wonder . . . are you in there?
Because sometimes, just for a moment, I see you. When you’re tired and your voice loses its practiced confidence, when your guard drops and your face softens into something familiar, I catch a glimpse of the girl I’ve known since birth. The one who used to grab my hand without thinking, who would talk to me for hours, who didn’t mind being seen beside me in public. I hold onto those moments like fireflies in a jar—brief, flickering reminders that you are still in there somewhere, beneath the layers of distance and teenage bravado.
I’ve been through the life changes you’re about to experience, and I know one thing for certain: through all of them, my mom was there. No matter what. And I want that for you. I want to be the person you always know will show up, the one who doesn’t flinch when you push away because I trust that, eventually, you’ll pull back in. But it’s hard. It’s hard not to take it personally. It’s hard not to feel like I’ve lost something I’ll never quite get back. It’s hard to keep showing up when I don’t know if you want me to.
So I’ll ask again: are you in there? I hope so. I hope one day, when the trying-on of different selves settles into something more true, when the need to prove your independence isn’t so pressing, you’ll see that I never left. I’ll be here, waiting. And I’ll take whatever glimpses I can get in the meantime.
Love,
Mom
by Whitney Fleming 
