Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Things Will Never Be the Same
Part 2
Time in Boston was spent shopping, picking up things we'd ordered in advance, making returns for things that either didn't fit into the dorm, or weren't needed, and then repeating the process over and over again. We even had some time to play.
I managed to keep it together for most of the time before move in, and even then didn't completely lose it. Yes, I cried, and yes, I'm sad, but I'm also really happy for Ben and the new journey he is on. I'm sad that we really won't be together anymore, At least not in the same familiar way you have with the people you love and live with. Even when it was time to go on Sunday, I only cried for a little bit. I guess I still have the ability to fool myself. I kept saying that I would see him tomorrow, and it was no big deal because I really was seeing him tomorrow, and the next day. We kept making changes and exchanges to the stuff he needed for his new life. And it wasn't until Tuesday night that I realized when I said goodbye after the last drop off of stuff that it really was goodbye. And my heart hurt, and it still hurts, and I wonder how long this is going to last.
One of my long time friends posted on Facebook that I was being so brave and handling this gracefully. Here's what I told her: "I feel anything but graceful. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest over and over again. It reminds me a little bit of childbirth. You take classes, you learn about the process, and then when the time comes, it doesn't go quite as planned, but somehow you survive it. And from that moment forward your whole life is different."
It's true. My whole life is different, and things will never be the same.
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Things Will Never Be The Same
Part 1
The plane is taking off into the foggy San Francisco sky, and I suddenly realize that this is the end of me having my baby boy. As the flight leaves home and we head towards Boston I suddenly realize that I have my baby boy on this flight, and the next time I see him after this week, he will be a man. Eighteen years isn't long enough to teach him everything he needs to know. I suspect he will never climb into bed with me just to cuddle, just because he wants me to hold him. Oh my God, what am I going to do without him everyday?
Seth, my sensitive son, seemed to feel it most acutely this morning. He came down to my bedroom after saying goodbye to his big brother with tears streaming down his face. He looked at me and said "Ben's leaving," then gave me a huge hug. For the past week the two of them have been fighting like cats and dogs, far more than the usual brotherly arguing. I only now realize that all the bravado Seth has been showing has just been an act, self preservation in full force. He stomped out of my room, and under his breath says "Happy birthday to me." His birthday is in two days, and for the first time in his life his big brother won't be there to celebrate with him. And he's hurting because of it. After sharing the same room for nearly 17 years, Ben won't be there to annoy Seth with his late night chuckles hidden beneath the covers of his bed as he watches some video on YouTube long after bedtime has come and gone. And somehow Seth realizes it faster and more deeply than I do.
We're sitting on the plane, and Ben has taken out his iPad, and starts to watch one of the episodes of Gotham that he's downloaded. I can't tell if he's having any of those feelings of fear or doubt like I am. I wonder if it's even sunken in for him that our life and our family will never be the same. Maybe this is just his way of numbing out, falling into someplace else where what's happening today, right now, can't sneak into his conscious mind. Or maybe he's having those same feelings of fear and loss that I am, and he's just putting on a good face for me. Maybe he's stronger than I am, and has figured out how to stop the tears that just keep rolling down my cheeks. I want to ask him how he's feeling, but I'm afraid of the answer. On one hand, if he's scared or sad I want to be there to support him. I want to let him know that these feelings are normal, that everyone who leaves home feels them. On the other hand, maybe he's just excited about the next phase of his life, and isn't thinking at all about how the rest of us are feeling. I know this is normal, but a piece of me wants him to know that things will be different at home, that we will be different without him. That we all are hurting. A selfish part of me wants him to feel the same loss that I am feeling. I know that's wrong, but I can't seem to stop these thoughts from coming.
