When Kelli was a senior in High School, I got an assignment in one of her English classes. (One of her parents was supposed to write from our perspective about how we felt about her leaving for college.) Here is what I came up with. She's a senior in college this year, and when I re-read what I wrote, I still feel exactly the same way. She'll be graduating in a few short months and moving on to the next phase of her life. It just keeps flying by, no matter what I do to try to slow down time.

Kelli

From the time she was able to do it, she gave the best hugs in the world, arms and legs wrapped around you, face buried in your neck. She gave herself body and soul in her hugs. You knew without a doubt when she hugged you that you were getting all of her.

She has always had a heart so big that I don’t think it should fit in her chest. For as long as I can remember, she could not stand to hurt someone or see someone hurt. She has never been able to tolerate injustices, and will stand up for people she thinks are being mistreated. She is one of the most generous, empathetic, loving people I know, and has been that way since she was little. Her heart was made that way.

Along with that big, generous heart comes an intensity in everything she does and everything she feels. When she was little, she screeched—an eardrum-piercing sound that would penetrate walls and make unsuspecting visitors grow wide-eyed with concern. I knew, though, that the screech commonly accompanied frustration, anger, happiness, glee, excitement…just about any emotion she was feeling at the moment. She has always been the type to feel and express her emotions with an intensity far beyond what is considered normal for most. When she is angry, watch out. And when she’s sad, she can be inconsolable. But when she is happy or finds something funny, she has a laugh that is impossible to resist. You don’t even know what she’s laughing at, but you have to join in. She is funny, and has a wonderful sense of humor.

Her ability to imitate others, whether it is a favorite (or not-so-favorite) teacher, a character from a movie, or even a facial expression from a picture is simply uncanny. This is also something she has had since she was little. She would sit and study pictures in a book, and suddenly look up and show me the exact facial expression and/or posture of the person in the picture she had been studying. As she got older, she developed that enviable knack for remembering lines from movies and imitating characters to a tee. She has given us so many laughs with this talent.

She has always loved a good love story, too, starting with her earliest favorite, Sleeping Beauty. I can still picture her, young enough to be in diapers, walking in circles and singing, “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dweam” over and over. She loved to act out scenes from the movie with her sister, with her stuffed animals and dolls, with her friends, her mom—anyone who would play. She never tired of it. “Sweet” is probably the most common adjective used to describe her, and I think it’s still the one I hear most often from people who want me to know how much they like her. “She’s a sweetheart” is something I’ve heard many times when people learn that I am her mom. I have to agree.

It seems like just a year or two ago that I was watching her turn in circles, singing “Once Upon a Dream.” It seems like just last year that she crawled up in my lap, gave me one of her famous hugs, and told me that she was going to build a house next door to mine when she grew up, so that we would never have to leave each other. But it was more than one or two years ago, and the reality is that she hasn’t crawled up in my lap for a long time, or buried her face in my neck, or wrapped her legs around me in a hug. And suddenly I’m facing the fact that she is almost an adult. She has chosen a college over four hours away from home, and soon she will pack up her room, tell us goodbye, and leave for college. I don’t want her to go. I know that part of being a good parent is raising your kids so that when it’s time, they’re ready to go. But I’m not ready. I know it’s time, and that I need to let her go. But my heart, which I am convinced is just half the size of hers, is breaking.