We’ve got two dogs, Roxie and Cosita. My childhood memories are full of the cats we’ve loved, from my dad’s cat, Bandit, to our beloved white cat Cecelia, whose gray fur formed a perfect heart shape across her stomach. But since our last cat friend, Sunny the orange cat, died too young, we’ve been cat-less. The sudden loss of Sunny was hard to move on from, especially for my mom.

This year, Mom finally thought she was ready for a new kitten. It was all she wanted for her birthday on June 16. “Roxie and Cosita need a new friend!” she said. In the week leading up to her birthday, something happened. She started to hear a kitten’s meow (喵叫声) in the garage. Every time she went in and out of the garage, she could hear the soft cries but couldn’t tell the exact position of the sound. She asked my dad if he heard it too. He only shrugged (耸肩). At last, Mom’s birthday was arriving. She kept her fingers crossed, hoping for a kitten.

Over the past week, my dad had heard the kitten’s meow every time he walked past my mom’s car. One day he opened the hood (车盖) of the car, and a yellow kitten stared back at him. How in the world did she get there? And where did she come from? Dad didn’t know, but he fed the kitten every day, waiting for the day he’d give her to Mom.

The little kitten was such a perfect birthday gift, and Dad even didn’t need to leave the house to find her for my mom’s happy birthday! When it came time to name our new furry friend, we took inspiration from a song famously performed by Wilson Pickett and called her “Sally”.

When I sent my daughter, Emma, off for her freshman year of college, I found myself surrounded by an incredible feeling of sadness. Clearly, I’m not alone. Just last week, The Wall Street Journal reported that more than 90 percent of colleges offer some programs to help parents who are “struggling with the change”

Indeed, this is the season when countless articles are urging helicopter parents to stop hovering (盘旋) so much. But on the basis of what I can tell from Emma’s college schedule, “helicopter children” may be more accurate. Between October holiday, winter holiday, spring break and summer break, the first one out of my nest has come fluttering (振翅) back home nearly every month of the year since she has been away.

In the meantime, Emma calls, or texts me almost every day. Given all this, missing Emma seems kind of absurd. But why have I still felt on some level that I’ve experienced a deep loss?

All summer long before Emma left, I took Emma out for countless mother-daughter dinners and walks. I also uncharacteristically indulged (纵容) her. At the same time, I was unusually censorious. In my eyes, Emma spent the weeks leading up to school going out with her friends too much and staying out way too late, certainly not spending enough time with me!

Although it’s taken quite a while to realize what was happening, I now understand my unhappiness is not a reflection of how much time Emma and I spent together. Regardless of how often she comes home, or how many times a day we chat, Emma is now gone in a far grander sense. She is well on the road to adulthood, and from this, she will never return. I know this is completely normal. And I take pride in seeing Emma make her way so confidently. However, Emma’s going to college has signaled the passing of something that I treasured—her childhood and my relationship to her as a child.