First of all, I’m back.
You probably didn’t notice I was gone. I don’t like to advertise when I’m out of town, which says something about how old I am. You can draw a line between the older generations, who were taught NEVER to say out loud, “Oh, yes, we’re about to go on vacation” anywhere in public because their parents shushed them and told them later it was dangerous to let strangers know the house might be empty, and the younger generations, who blithely post photos of themselves ziplining in Costa Rica–which I’m sure the house thieves enjoy as they view the pictures on the computers, laptops, and iPhones they STOLE from the travelers’ house that same day.
Anyway, we were gone and now we’re back and nothing was stolen, and my niece who housesat for us seems to have survived except for some guilty feelings about not having been able to pet the cat (she has allergies and the cat is very needy). She and the dog slept together. I’m fairly certain it was a platonic arrangement, but we run a strict “don’t ask/don’t tell” household here when it comes to bestiality. And chocolate consumption.
For most of the vacation, we sat around the house while it rained, gazing at the lake from a safe distance and working our way through the HUNGER GAMES trilogy (rereading the first two, excitedly tearing into the last one which came out last Tuesday) and eating lobster salad by the bucketful which could explain the extra tire I brought home around my middle. The security guys at Logan Airport pulled me aside and made me stand in the middle of the security area with my hands up in the air and I swear it was just so they could all have a good laugh at my stomach. Oh, and I think they were also using that machine that shows you naked, but the joke’s on them: I look awful naked. Ha.
Anyway, other than eating lobster salad and taking walks when the rain finally cleared, we didn’t do much. Wait–there was one thing. What was it again? It keeps slipping my mind.
Oh, yeah. We dropped my oldest son off at college.
Not a big deal. We moved him in, ate some lunch, heard some speeches . . . and then they took a knife, plunged it into my heart, twisted it around, pulled the heart from my chest, tossed it, still beating, on the ground, and jumped up and down on it for a while.
They made us say goodbye.
You think it won’t be so bad. After all, the kid can drive you crazy. And he’s been pretty independent for a while, so what’s the big difference? One mouth fewer to feed, less laundry (although he was doing his own mostly), a schedule you don’t need to keep track of–it’s not all bad, right?
Yeah, none of that was going through my head when he hugged me goodbye. Just a dreadful, painful tearing feeling. And a sense that something would feel wrong about my life from now on.
I’ll adjust. I know I’ll adjust. We’ve adjusted to a lot in our lives and we always get back to a new normal. My eyes will stop tearing up at the slightest thing. Sometime.
Just not yet.