Kids are brutal. Sometimes it seems they can be the most vicious creatures on earth. You get them through fevers, help them yank wiggly teeth, and teach them about the world and which parts to stay away from. One day they look at you with awe, and vow that you know everything. The next, they imply that you don't have sense enough to pour water out of a boot if the instructions are printed on the sole.

Jillian turned 18 on October 4, 2004. On October 7th, 2004, she moved out. That has to be some kind of a record.

What followed was one of the darkest depressions that I have ever experienced. I knew she was safe, I knew she had a decent place to stay, I knew she was all right. What I didn't know is how she could so casually walk away with a saucy little wave and simply not come back.

I know that this is part of the process of raising kids; the spreading of the wings, the leaving of the nest, and so on. I just never expected it to happen so soon. For her, this 'parting of ways' was a giant adventure. For me, it was an exercise in torture. If it hadn't been for the fact that I had two more offspring at home to keep me on my toes, I think I would have dug a hole, crawled into it, and pulled it in after me.

A month went by and her bed stayed empty. There is no greater punishment for a parent than to turn all the lights off late of an evening, and lock the front door with one of your children somewhere on the other side of it...in the dark night, doing God knows what.

We live in a small town, so I heard from her on occasion and saw her at the stop light on Main Street every now and then. There was no anger. I think we were both in shock. She...that she actually did it; cut the strings. Me...that she didn't realize in fifteen minutes that she'd made a horrible mistake and beg to come home. Every day that passed was a statement that I had done my job, was no longer needed, and she was getting along just fine without me, thank you very much.

Then came November fifteenth.

What started out as a routine day at work turned into anything but that, when she showed up at ten in the morning with tears streaming down her face.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I demanded.

"I...I'm sick!"

"How...what...I mean, what's wrong with you? Did you go to the doctor?"

"Yeah." Sniff.

"Did he give you medicine?"

"Yeah." Tears just rolling.

"Do you have money for the prescription?"

"Yes...I already got it."

"Well...I..." I stammered. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. "Honey, I...what can I do?"

"Nothing, really."

Then the crying turned to sobbing. I stood there helplessly and watched her break down. I had no idea what was expected of me. As I said before, there was no anger between us, but I would be lying if I said there weren't walls. She had built one to keep away her homesickness. I had built one to keep from pleading with her to come home. I believed in my heart that she was not ready to be on her own, and I suspect that she felt that too, but she was her mother's daughter. Determined. Stubborn. Nothing, but nothing, would get her to admit that she had acted hastily.

I stood there, my arms at my sides and my hands balled into fists. This was new for me...I didn't know what was expected of me. Good Lord, I had gotten her from birth to eighteen years old acting on nothing but pure instinct. I had no instructions or directions, I had been led by nothing but my heart every step of the way, constantly second guessing my decisions and doubting my actions.

Every pitiful sob rent my heart. This was totally unfair. You don't demand independence and then come running to mama when the going gets tough. Especially when it appears that everything has been handled.

What the hell was she here for, anyway? What could I do that the doctor and the pharmacist hadn't already done?

I swallowed around a lump in my throat the moment the answer came to me. Suddenly, as though a light bulb had gone on in my head, I knew what she was there for. But in order to give it to her I would have to knock down my wall.

The wall was relatively new, the mortar still damp. It would take very little really to knock it down. The question was, did I really want to knock it down? Did I want to be the one to take the first step toward acceptance of this new arrangement? But...wait, was I really the first one? After all, she had come to me, not the other way around. I stopped fighting with my feelings and took a step forward and almost of their own accord, my arms went around her. She leaned into my shoulder and sobbed like her heart would break while I did what I had always done when she was sick.

"It'll be all right baby, this is going to pass, before you know it you'll be right as rain." I soothed as I held her, smiling when the tears started anew, and her body shook with the strain of allowing her wall to come down. We stood there, she and I, allowing ourselves to realize that even though we were no longer living in the same house, we were still mother and daughter and she and I both still needed each other.