I miss skinned knees and mosquito bites

I had this big plan, marry a great guy, have four kids, be happy. Well, the great guy turned out to be a weasel, the four kids soon devolved into all my eggs into one beautiful little basket, and my plan has had bandaids on it pretty much ever since, mostly financial. We had a lot of fun when she was smaller and there was less economic pressure; even though she's kind of a handful with her tendency to panic, she was really balanced out when she was dancing a lot. It seemed harder to me once I sent her off to college and she started having problems I couldn't help with, like the mono that kept coming back and flooring her, followed by the catastrophic migraines. There wasn't any outlet at college for dance for her, and I had high hopes for grad school, they promoted their dance programs a lot.
Grad school so far has been brutal. She's been there five weeks and has yet to make a single girlfriend; she's never been anywhere twenty minutes without a new lifelong buddy.
She got heat rash so bad she developed a sensitivity to her own skin and got hives on top of heat rash. She hates taking medicine and is now having to keep up with a migraine and allergy regimen to avoid being put on steroids.
She was elated to sign up for jazz, tap and ballet classes. She loved the teachers and happily fell on her butt after four years out of class. Then the school changed her class schedule and she can't go to tap or jazz. She went from nearly five hours happy a week to a sad little ninety minutes.
Her car died dramatically yesterday and had to be towed, just as she was trying to go to the one fun thing of her week, the farmer's market. It had been sputtering but she had been saving up and planning to take it in to the garage after the next paycheck to keep the budget from being busted. So much for that.
The weather there has already begun to turn cold and gray, and it will be cold and gray for seven months. I need to Amazon Prime her a light box and pray it keeps her from becoming suicidal in the dark, she would get a little mopey in November here in the South for crying out loud.
I think I wouldn't worry so much if I had a job, really; just knowing I had enough money coming in would make me feel more capable of making her feel better. No, I couldn't buy her friends, but I could fly her home for a break from not having any and make her some manicotti.
 I thought this mom stuff got easier when they got older.