She checked out books about other countries.
She watched travel documentaries.
She dreamed about places I couldn’t imagine visiting.
I used to tease her.
“One day you’re going to leave me behind.”
She would roll her eyes.
“Never.”
Then she met Kang Jun.
Mary Lou was twenty-six.
Kang Jun was older.
Much older than I expected.
He was from South Korea and had been working temporarily in the United States when they met.
The first time she told me about him, she spoke so quickly I could barely follow.
“He’s thoughtful, Mom.”
Pregnancy & Maternity
“He listens.”
“He doesn’t treat me like I’m silly.”
“He wants me to see Seoul.”
I heard everything except what she wanted me to hear.
All I heard was:
South Korea.
Far away.
Another country.
Another language.
Another life.
When she told me Kang Jun was returning home and she wanted to go with him, I panicked.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Six months?”
“Maybe.”
“A year?”
“Maybe longer.”
“Mary Lou.”
She looked at me.
“Mom, I’m not disappearing.”
“It sounds like disappearing.”
“It isn’t.”
“Thousands of miles away feels a lot like disappearing.”
She sighed.
“You knew I wanted to travel.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to move across the world.”
She became quiet.
Then she said something I remembered for years.
“I have to know what my life looks like when I’m the one choosing it.”
I knew what she meant.
And part of me hated it.
Because raising a child means preparing them to leave you.
Child Care
Nobody tells you how unfair that feels when they actually do.
I worried about Kang Jun.
I worried about the age difference.
I worried about whether Mary Lou understood how dependent she might become living in a country where she didn’t know the language well.
I worried because that was what I did best.
But she was an adult.
And loving her meant allowing her to make choices that frightened me.
So I let her go.
At the airport, she hugged me tightly.
“I’ll call all the time.”
“You’d better.”
“I’ll come home.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
