He left again.
My heart feels like the board in a dart game. I am both happy and sad because I love to wrap my arms around him when he arrives. The angels sing and I hear harps. But I hate to do the same when he leaves because I think one of these times I might not let him go, Just. Not. Let. Him. Go. I want to scream “Stay” the entire time he is here. I never do. I never tell him to stay. I might, maybe tell him how much I miss him. But I never tell him to stay.
I say goodbye an hour before he heads to the airport because I have to sleep through the actual farewell. I have to, or I will bust wide open and c’mon, who wants to clean up that mess?
If you think it’s hard to say goodbye when they’re little, and you leave them at pre-school, you will not like this part of parenting much. It’s like the first sip of a cold lemonade on a hot day, but also tending to that bitch of a burn you got drinking that stuff in the sun. It’s the start of a great novel, but the sadness you feel when you get to the last page, too. It’s a day at the beach, but all that sand in your ass when you shower at home.
California is much further away than it should be. Like, is it possible for it to be a little closer? Can someone arrange this? Just like three hours closer. I’m not asking for that much. It’s pretty simple. Anyone? Anyone cover that for me?
They can’t live with you when they’re adults. I know this. They have to grow up. But like, maybe just on this coast? Will he ever come back to this coast? I just wish we were able to shove some food in our mouths together once a week, without having to travel seven hours. You know?
Must be something in my eye. Have to stop writing because of it. Maybe something in both eyes. Something they didn’t tell me about when I was pregnant.