The Journal Times Online - Racine, Wisconsin

By Michael Burke
mburke@journaltimes.com

It really didn’t sink in until I was vacuuming my daughters’ room, poking under and around their bunk beds.
And then the full realization seeped into my mind: I didn’t know if my youngest daughter, Christina, would ever sleep in her bed again. Sadness instantly swept over me like an ocean wave.
My youngest daughter has gone off to college. (Yep, I’m that old.)
I knew it before that day, of course. I’d said goodbye to her with a surprisingly casual send-off.
But on that later day came the full force of what that meant. And for about two days, I fought off depression that kept wanting to color my thoughts dark.
At the time, Christina was still at her mother’s house and hadn’t actually moved to Madison. So we had time to arrange one final outing. We decided to go to the Mitchell Park Conservatory domes — as we’d done various times over the years — and then get some food afterward.
The domes are always a nice place to visit — interesting, peaceful and not so extensive an attraction that they take up a whole afternoon.
But walking through them that day was a somber affair. Everything I saw reminded me of former trips there with my two girls as they grew in age, stature, awareness and maturity.
And every time I thought about those past visits there, it triggered a new memory or two of the other things we’d done together over the years. Their youthful enthusiasm made every new activity a delight in which we all basked.
I remember one Christmas when I’d gotten my girls a geology and crystal-making set. One of the activities it offered was that the child would chip away to find the buried stones or fossils.
Although it was no more dangerous than eating with a fork, the set supplied safety goggles, and Christina happily and very seriously donned hers before digging.
My girls quickly learned to appreciate the natural world, partly through our annual camping trips. For a time, we would eagerly net new butterflies and moths, trying to build a little collection for display. That lasted until Christina’s incredible sensitivity toward all life asserted itself, and she no longer was willing to cause the death of a single butterfly.
We simply moved from catching them to admiring them.
That day at the domes, I couldn’t help but feel our time together steadily slipping away, like water you try to hold in your cupped hands — but you can’t retain for long.
We ate what felt like the last supper and then had a tearful, long goodbye hug.
And now she’s off on a great life adventure: a university, new friends, finding and pursuing a career and growing in new ways.
Which leaves this father feeling like he did a pretty good job — not perfect, but pretty good — preparing his flesh and blood to one day depart.
It’s hard.