As I write this, though it is nine months out, I am bracing myself for when we drop my oldest daughter off at college for her freshman year.  I know I will be sad.  Terribly so.  For eighteen years, I have been on a special mission and I am in a tailspin for how that dynamic will change. 

Practically daily, I take my dog, Arrow, to Simpsonwood Park, a sprawling forested land that has dirt trails and too many deer to count.  It also butts up against a long stretch of the Chattahoochee River.  Along its bank, there is a marble bench. My custom is to stand between the river and the memorial and pray.  These days my heart has been heavy.  The princess days are gone.  The weight in my chest does not abate.  They do not need me to hold their hand anymore. 

As a Catholic, I understand that my God is a Trinity – three in One . Who but my heavenly Father can show me the way out of this present darkness? 

God the Father created the universe then created humankind to inhabit it in Eden, a place where they were called to be inventive and imaginative.

Perhaps this is when my daughters were conceived, were born, were held in our arms and nurtured. It was a blissful, happy time. 

Perhaps that was what might be called a “God the Father” season.  I was once told that my becoming a father would teach me so much about God.  Maybe this was how.  My early fatherhood was modeled in a small but significant way on God’s early fatherhood. 

But then comes God the Son.  God the Son met His people where they are, became incarnate and grew up to be a great teacher and, most importantly, our Savior.  Along the way, he disciplined His followers when necessary but, beyond anything else, showed them how to be in this world.  Showed them the Way until He gave everything of Himself for them. 

Perhaps when my daughters entered school – elementary, middle, and high school – this was my “God the Son” season.  I was with them.  We lived under the same roof.  I guided them day after day, sacrificing everything I had for them.  It was a trying time with a host of challenges, but just like Jesus, I got into the thick of things with them, so that I could show them what mattered most. 

But finally comes God the Holy Spirit.  Jesus Himself said that He had to leave in order for the Holy Spirit to come.  Perhaps a part of the reason was because to be a good father, one must encourage his children to become independent.  This is where they can grow in wisdom and strength.  To keep one’s children under one roof, so to speak, would hamper their development and, worse yet, deny them the opportunity to discover their purpose, God’s plan for their lives. 

I think that this is where I might be now: “God the Holy Spirit” season.  We cannot see the Holy Spirit in the same way that Jesus’s disciples saw Him, but God the Holy Spirit still gives advice.  It is that still small voice.  It is what moves us to go one way or another.  My daughters may be preparing to launch, but they still need their dad, albeit in the form of counsel.  As a father, I should want each of them to mature into the women God wants them to be, and for that to happen, I have to get into the car.  I have to help my daughter move into her dorm room.  I have to give her a great big hug, and I have to say goodbye.  For now.  You can always talk to me.  I am there when you need me. 

And pray to Our Father in Heaven, the first Father, whose heart I am able to understand a little better now. 

Here is a poem I wrote.  I hope it lands well. 

How We Go 

We run ahead of our parents 

as we did when we were 

little – my siblings, cousins, and me 

on some trail, familiar logging road, 

our parents calling from behind, 

“Not too far!  Stay where I can 

see you!” 

But we tested the limits, of course, 

ran on and on, 

became distant 

until we had our own children –  

those to whom we now call 

as our gait slows and 

we become aware of our 

imperfect bodies, the calls 

of our own parents 

echoes we can barely hear.