My heart tells me independence already suits my daughter

IT’S 11am. I’m driving up to Cork with my youngest. She’s leaving home for college today. And, if I were to take a tack of notice of what sensible people are saying, inside I should be cheering.

But approaching the main road to Cork, I’m unable to invoke any of their mantras — not even my mother’s, which are always nice and punchy. I can’t invoke “change is the rule of life”, let alone “beware of self-pity”. And as for “keep the heart up, love”— my heart has taken on a life all of its own this morning; a dangerous state of being, if ever there was one.

I’m sure there is a mantra to cover what I’m doing today — I mean the law of probability dictates that there’s nothing in the world that’s happened to me that hasn’t happened before to someone else. There must be a parent — someone somewhere — who has put their youngest daughter’s life into the hands of a neurosurgeon and then, seven months afterwards, saw them off to college. So if you are out there — and you find this drive familiar (minor details notwithstanding) — mantras on a postcard please.