Chapter 21
Senior year came too fast.
Sophie was seventeen now.
Eighteen in March.
College applications were due.
She applied to ten schools.
All over the country.
But her heart was set on Stanford.
Ever since that summer program four years earlier.
We visited all the schools.
Drove across the country twice.
It was exhausting.
But wonderful.
Watching my daughter explore her future.
Seeing her light up when she walked on a campus.
Knowing she could go anywhere.
Be anything.
In December, the letters started coming.
Acceptance after acceptance.
NYU.
Duke.
Northwestern.
UT Austin.
Johns Hopkins.
She was thrilled.
But still waiting for Stanford.
The letter came in mid-March.
A big, thick envelope.
Good sign.
She made us all sit in the living room while she opened it.
Tom was holding my hand so tight my fingers went numb.
Jessica was bouncing up and down.
Daniel was pacing.
Sophie tore open the envelope.
She read it.
Then she screamed.
“I got in! I GOT INTO STANFORD!”
The room erupted.
Everyone was screaming and hugging and crying.
She’d done it.
My little girl was going to Stanford.
That summer was a blur of graduation parties and shopping and last-minute plans.
She graduated valedictorian.
Her speech was about resilience.
About how the worst things that happen to you can become your greatest strengths.
She talked about the night she almost died.
About how it had changed her.
Made her stronger.
Made her want to help other kids.
The whole audience cried.
Including me.
August came too fast.
We packed up her car.
All her clothes.
All her books.
Her favorite blanket.
Peanut’s favorite toy (Peanut was staying home with us, much to Sophie’s dismay).
We drove to California together.
Three days.
Me, Tom, and Sophie.
We sang off-key to every song on the radio.
We stopped at every tourist trap.
We talked late into the night at cheap motels.
About life.
About love.
About the future.
“Promise you’ll call every day,” I said for the hundredth time.
“Mom,” she laughed. “I promise. Every day. Even when I’m busy. Even when I have a million tests. You’re still my best friend.”
I cried.
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” she said. “But this isn’t goodbye. It’s just… see you later. And FaceTime. Lots and lots of FaceTime.”
We moved her into her dorm.
A tiny room with a bunk bed and a desk.
Her roommate was a nice girl from Chicago.
Also pre-med.
They hit it off immediately.
We spent the day putting up posters and organizing her closet and making her bed.
And then it was time to go.
I hugged her.
I held her for a long time.
“I love you more than anything in the whole world,” I said. “Be safe. Be smart. Be kind. And remember—you can do anything. Anything at all. And I will always, always be here for you. No matter what. No matter how old you get. No matter how far away you are. I’m just a phone call away.”
“I know, Mom,” she said, crying too. “I know. I love you too. So much.”
She hugged Tom.
“Take care of her,” she told him.
“Always,” he said.
Then we got in the car.
We drove away.
I watched her in the rearview mirror until she was gone.
I cried the whole way to the airport.
Tom held my hand.
“She’s going to be amazing,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “I just can’t believe my baby is all grown up.”
The house was too quiet when we got home.
Too empty.
Peanut moped by the front door for a week.
Waiting for her to come back.
But slowly, we adjusted.
Tom and I started traveling more.
For work.
For fun.
We went to Paris for our tenth anniversary.
We went to Japan the next year.
We reconnected as a couple.
Not just as parents.
It was wonderful.
And Sophie was right.
She called every day.
Sometimes for five minutes.
Sometimes for two hours.
She told us about her classes.
Her friends.
Her new boyfriend, Ryan, who was also pre-med.
She was still on the pre-med track.
Still getting straight A’s.
Still changing the world, one day at a time.
She came home for Thanksgiving.
For Christmas.
For spring break.
Every time, she was a little more grown-up.
A little more confident.
May you like
A little more ready to take on the world.
And every time, I was a little more proud.
