D took off on his camp adventure yesterday morning, and practically floated down the front steps on his way out. I had to call him back to say goodbye, which made me smile, and felt just a wee twinge in my throat. I’d been pre-mourning his going, as I’m wont to do, so the actual moment of separation didn’t really hit me emotionally. I blew a kiss at the departing car, came inside with Fynn, and went back to bed to make up for the sleep I’d missed while getting the last of his gear labeled and mended and packed.
Fynn and I had a great day. No fighting, minimal whining, lots of tidying and some fun in the backyard. I wondered what D was doing at various points, hoped he got a decent dinner as he’s on a GF diet, and thought I came to terms with the fact that this chunk of his life will be the first one where all I’ll know is what he chooses to tell me. I can bet it will be pretty minimal as he hates to write, and will likely only remember things from the last few days by the time we pick him up. The house was quiet, and I truly enjoyed it.
Today I got an email from the camp, sending me to a blog where they occasionally post updates about the kids and their activities. I read that they had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner (he can’t have spaghetti! but wait, meatballs, he loves those so …), what projects they were starting, and saw a few pics of this morning’s warm up ninja lunges. In which I caught just a glimpse of a familar mop of hair, and the toe of one newly-purchased shoe. I spun off into a sudden depression, moped through the afternoon, and finally realized what had happened.
It hit my heart that those glimpses were all I was going to get, and I have to be ok with that. I hadn’t expected even that much, but getting it made me realize what I was missing. What I’m supposed to miss, need to miss, and he needs to have. That space where he gets to be himself, no family watching, and stretch not just his legs, but his heart and his wings. I sent him for that very reason, but seeing that toe was just enough to trip my heart up. See? See that toe? It’s not yours, nor will it’s dancing be seen by you. Not now, and less and less as time goes on. I have to let you go D, and it’s going to be a lot harder than I bargained for. Practical, unemotional me, with tears running down my cheeks. My job as yout mom includes this cutting adrift, and I just get to watch. And really, when I can’t see and I can’t hear, I just get to wonder, hope, pray, and love that whatever you choose to do, it will stay gloriously and perfectly you, with that mop of rowdy hair and those deep brown eyes. Your group at camp might be building machines that never flew, but I think you will.
Me? I might need to hide behind some big old sunglasses once in awhile, but I think I’ll be fine too.