Posted by: selenafulton | August 8, 2012

The Grand Adventure

I’m sorry I missed last week’s post. Last week was full of upheavel for me. My daughter and her husband accepted a job and had to pack for a move…all within a week’s time. This mom was trying to be positive.

So, yesterday began the first day of my daughter’s grand adventure. She is moving across country, as the song goes, “to a place I’d never been before.”

I saw her off with an ache in my heart bigger than the distance that will be between us. She is young, married and full of promise. They left with a rental truck carrying all their precious possessions. I know in my heart she will be fine, but she will no longer be a hop in the car away.

As I said goodbye, I knew it is always hardest on the one left behind, and tried to let her know I support her and her husband in their new endeavor. I hugged her, trying to absorb as much of her to take with me as I could. Anxiously awaiting the time I can see her again.

I miss you, dear daughter. I miss you with every fiber of my soul.

Be safe and I will see you soon.



  1. It’s always sad to see them go. My son, his wife, and two of my grandkids live in WV, where I’m from, and it tears my heart out to see them leave after they’ve been here visiting. The good thing is you can talk on the phone, keep up with photos on FB, and Skype. I’ll pray that this will be an easy transition for you, Beth.

    • Yes, Vickie. Skype is my new best friend.

  2. Where did they move to? What will they be doing? At least any place in America is “close”. For several years, our son was in Africa & daughter was in Germany.. now that is TOUGH! Praise God for technology with phones & computers. I understand how tough it is on you, though!!

    • Thankful they did not go to Germany! And yes! Technology is wonderful!

  3. Hugs!!! I hope there are lots of visiting opportunities. 🙂

  4. Let me tell you from experience it’s as hard for her. I remember driving to the airport when my English husband and I were going to fly to our new home in London. My mother, to keep from either of us bursting into loud wails (we both had tears leaking down our cheeks), picked that moment to tell me exactly how to iron a man’s shirt. Every time I have done it in the past years — many — I can hear my mother’s voice: “You start by doing the collar . . . “

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