Wheel of Choices

By Jean Bobb

Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret.
~Ambrose Bierce

It had been five years since the younger of our two daughters left home. Both moved to southern California, while we lived in Phoenix a good five-hour drive away.

Doug and I were actually enjoying an empty nest. The house stayed clean longer, we ate out more often, and we didn't have that constant sense of worrying that comes with parenting.

When Chris called to say she was coming to Phoenix on Friday for a business meeting, I was thrilled.

"I'll be there Labor Day weekend, Mom."

In a nanosecond, I had the entire weekend planned out. I'll take her to that cute Italian restaurant, I thought. And she's never seen the new mall. Oh, and she'll love just being home and relaxing on the couch. We'll make memories.

Chris's business meeting was over early on Friday, and the three of us hung out at the house having a great time. At dinner, she shared stories about her job and we laughed about silly, goofy things only families with wonderful memories understand.

And then she said it. Casually. Without any hesitation. As though words couldn't possibly sting.

"Some of my church friends are having a holiday get-together," she mentioned. "If it's okay with you guys, I think I'd like to go home tomorrow."

Home? Tomorrow?

The room sank into grayness, and my thoughts spun like the giant wheel on a TV game show. The kind where the contestant either wins an exciting prize or lands on the wrong slot -- and goes bankrupt.

She wants to go home tomorrow. Isn't this home?

My feeling-wheel kept spinning in a rush of unexpected emotions. I had no idea where it was going to land.
My first instinct was to stop at the slot marked "Angry: How could you grow up and leave me?" I could halt the spinning right there and be content in my anger.

Chris stared at me. Could she see the spinning wheel, too?

It kept turning, to pause on "Hurt: I've worked hard to make this your home."

Keep going, keep going, my inner audience urged. "Attitude: I'm gonna clam up and punish you for ruining the wonderful, weekend plans I had for us."

The wheel kept going. I didn't feel in control of it and feared this wonderful evening could dissolve into a bad memory, if it landed in the wrong spot.

"Pity: I've gotten old and there is no more purpose for my life."

"Detach: Act like you don't care."

"Guilt: No explanation needed here...."

Chris waited for a response.

And as I gazed at her through a maze of confusion, I saw this beautiful young woman. A person of faith, value, and integrity. Hard-working, funny, and likable. I was privileged to be her mom.

And her life was in southern California.

I felt the wheel slow down. I had control of it, after all, and searched for the one slot that had been blurred by the others. The one marked "Acceptance: It will be okay, let her go, she still loves you."

Easy? No.Worth it? Absolutely.

Chris and I spent the rest of Friday evening eating too much ice cream and sharing too much gossip. Me and my beautiful daughter, my friend, creating a new memory. In fact, Chris had so much fun -- she stayed until Sunday.

I had won the prize, after all.

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