No. 57: Saying "Goodbye"

The ache normally begins a couple of days before the looming date of his departure.  It normally kicks-off with an emptiness in my stomach and food soon starts to taste like paper.  I nod and smile and try to be engaged with all around me but it is only half-hearted.  All too soon it is time.  I gather the girls and we make the long drive to the airport with me trying to make light of things by half-threatening to lose my way to the terminal or offering to steal his passport so he cannot make his flight.  But he sees through my ‘comic’ routine and we work on consoling our youngest who is understandably heartbroken again. Prolonged hugs intermingle with whispered endearments and wishes for safe travels is our dance as I breathe him in one last time.  This has become our routine of late – saying goodbye.

Lingering at the gate until he goes through immigration only brings the promise of more tears so I force a smile and concentrate on cheering up the girls as we pull away from the airport, giving them the usual “we can get through anything if we stick together and remember to be kinder to each other during this time” talk.  The tête-à-tête is normally followed by a trip to their favorite restaurant for a sushi fix, a spot of CD shopping, followed by a visit to the library. By the time we walk through the door back to the now painfully quiet house a few hours later, my heart feels like a stone has taken up residence as we ‘get on’ with ‘everyday’ life.  On the Jambox, even John Mayer is singing my blues as “come back to me” replaces the normal chatter and giggle from a few hours earlier; and what was once a clear blue sky is now dark and cloudy, reflecting my headspace.  But I cannot afford to be so self-indulgent with this looming depression and tell myself to get a hold of myself – I need to set a positive example for the girls.

We have been doing this ‘dance’ for six months now and not only do I know the routine all too well, but am also familiar with the key: distraction by means of a busy schedule is a welcome albeit temporary ‘band-aid’ to our ‘malady’.  Alas my head is an expert but my heart is very much a novice still.  But I soldier on, opening up my diary to see how I can distract the girls, and myself, in the coming weeks.  I am filled with guilt as I realise it is a mere three weeks before I get to see Matt but nearly 8 before the girls get their reunion!  I make a mental note to make plans for the next seven weekends for them, quietly grateful for their otherwise busy schedules during the week.

Sleep does not come easily whenever Matt is away as I go from falling asleep (and STAYING in the land of nod!) at a drop of the hat to becoming a night owl; putting off going to bed – all of which does not abode well for my 5am starts.  Interestingly, it is always these stretches of Matt’s absence which also see Paige becoming a troubled sleeper who more often than not, ends up in my bed normally around the 1am mark.  Argh.  The first night is always the worst.  I am now bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the ungodly hour of half four in the morning, having been up for over 2 hours already.  Sigh.  It is going to be a long day and although my day is only just beginning, I am already looking forward to my bed tonight.  Hopefully a peaceful slumber awaits.  19 sleeps to go before I can say “hello” – so much better than saying “goodbye”.

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17. Its a little TOO quiet..

 

Those who know me well know this: despite all my complaining and feeble protests, I love a busy household.  I love the excited chatter of my three girls and their friends bouncing off the walls and the tactical scheduling of their increasingly busy diaries. And at the end of the day, I love going into each daughter’s room and saying “good night” and trying to make them laugh or smile one last time, just before they turn in for the night.

But whenever any one of them goes away on a sleepover, our home takes on a different dynamic, and everything is just a little bit more subdued.  Life becomes a little less hectic and crazed.  A little too quiet.  SOB!

I remember the first time Faith went away for a week-long school trip when she was 9 years old.  She was my first to go away for longer than a night and I was so excited for her.  I dutifully attended all the briefings set up by the school to “assure parents” of the wonderful adventure the children were going to embark on and how these first steps towards independence (at 9!) would be beneficial for them in the long run.  We were then sent away with a swaddle of consent and medical forms, indemnity waivers, packing lists to fill-out and study.

And so the weeks flew by quickly, until suddenly, it was time for us to see Faith off on her trip.  Determined not to be teary, I gave her a huge hug and told her to have a fantastic time.  She quickly disappeared into the animated crowd of children and as the buses pulled away, she quickly mouthed “I love you”.  I felt something tug at my heart and found my eyes wet.  That walk back to the car was the longest walk ever.  But I didn’t have time to dwell on it as I had to rush back to my two other little girls who needed me.  When I finally had a moment to myself later that day, I was shocked at myself.  Hang on!  What is that feeling in my chest?  It was an ache!  An actual physical pain that refused to go away.  No, I was not having a heart attack.  I was just missing my child and it manifested into something physical, only going away when she came home. 

The same thing happened when Tia went away, although, this time, it was only for 3 nights. Out of my three monkeys, Tia is my shy, can-be-reticent, and can-get-over-emotional one.  I was beside myself with worry.  Will she like the food?  Will she get scared?  Will there by anyone who would give her a reassuring hug?  I canvassed the nicest teachers I knew who were going on the trip, tearfully asking if they would please keep an especial eye on her in case she became overwrought. 

Well!  I don’t know what I was so worried about!  When I picked Tia after a very long drawn out three days of chest aches, sleepless nights and Matt laughing at me, I asked about her trip.  Tia excitedly raved about how much fun she had and how she LOVED being away!  “LOVE BEING AWAY”?!? What is she talking about?  I MUST be so delusional with happiness I was imagining things but talk about surprise!  “Really?  That’s great!”  Mustering up as much lightheartedness in my voice as I could.  I then asked if she missed anything / anyone from home (HINT! HINT!).  Her response?  "No."   She said.  "Just your cooking."  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!  Here was my middle child who ALWAYS talked about how she was NEVER moving out of home, showing me I had worried unnecessarily!  So she didn’t miss me per se but hey, I’ll take ‘missing my cooking’ any day if it meant she found the courage to find qualities in herself I had been trying to instill.

Sigh.  I have wonderful trailblazing girlfriends with children who are now young adults off exploring the world – without their moms.  All around the globe, I hear too many accounts of ‘adieus’ and wonderful homecomings and each time, emotion overwhelms me and I feel a melodramatic tug at my heart.  I realise the adage “children are only on loan" is so true but I have such wildly conflicting feelings about the day when my three will undoubtedly take off on their own adventures -- with my blessings.

But I have a plan!  To continue building an unbreakable bond where they always will feel the need to come home often, if only to share a meal, a joke or two, and a glass of wine.  Hmmm... what shall I cook tonight...

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