Being a parent is all about the letting go. Not a new idea. So why after nearly 21 years as a parent do I sometimes still not get it?

We had this conversation at my house yesterday afternoon:

Sara Ann: Oh, yeah, Mom, I think I forgot to tell you that I almost got killed a couple of weeks ago. I was going to Starbucks before school and it was about 5:45 a.m. and this drunk driver was swerving everywhere and he almost hit me. I got out of his way, then he drove off really fast. I had to pull over because I was freaking out. Yeah, I guess I forgot to tell you …

After my pulse returned to normal, I asked her why she hadn’t told me sooner, as she’s generally pretty open. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “You would just freak out.” Well … yeah. Truthfully, I’m usually not one to freak and my girls have never been afraid to tell me things. But I’ll admit to a fleeting thought, “Back to carpool line. I didn’t mind that so much. I can take her to school every day. Then she’ll be safe.” For just an instant I wanted to take back control, to keep her with me, or, as she put it, “Uhh, Mom, just ruin my life.”

We all know that’s not the answer — I can’t protect her from drunk drivers when she’s on the road and I can’t shield her from mean girls, stupid boys, failure, disappointment and the consequences of her own choices. The truth is, I cannot keep her safe from any and all harm. But if I do my job well, I can teach her to cope with it.

Letting go doesn’t mean you don’t care — it means you do not allow yourself to worry about things you cannot control. You take reasonable precautions. You teach, pray, counsel, advise and guide — but worry has no constructive outcome. Take back the reins at the slightest hint of discomfort and struggle and you will raise a dependent child who will rightly doubt her ability to function in the real world.

When my girls were infants, learning to walk, I didn’t let them hit their heads, but they did fall on their butts a few times. You don’t learn to ride a bike without a skinned knee or two. It’s just harder with teenagers. The older the child, the bigger the risk.

With greater risks come great rewards. Nothing satisfies me more than a wise decision one of my girls has made as I walk behind her and provide guidance and advice rather than strict control.

I hate that Sara Ann was so close to what could have been a very serious accident, but I’m glad she gained a little experience and confidence to handle danger, to make a quick decision that may have saved her life. It’s probably better that I didn’t know about the drunk driver that day — somehow it’s easier to handle two weeks later when she can shrug her shoulders about it.

And there is nothing I could have done about it anyway.