We didn’t spend all of our time as a foursome. Often the kids went off on their own.
“I’ve got to stop calling them that,” my husband announced, but what else to call them? Younger son not yet 30, girlfriend, younger yet.
Nothing about the rhythm of apartness caused grievance or disappointment. Perhaps that surprised me. But one haunting moment lingers even now.
We are on the street. Picture a throng on either side where people are shoulder to shoulder — a veritable river of human beings. Girlfriend wears a sweet straw hat, making her generally visible even in a crowd. But on this particular afternoon as they set off, I must have looked down for a moment, possibly at my phone — a trusty travel companion, that device — and when I looked up again there were gone. They had melted into the crowd on their way somewhere.
For all intents and purposes, they had disappeared. Their separation from us and forward movement and disappearance carried the weight and mystery and sadness of time in it. At that moment, they were literally walking into an afternoon, a future, unknowable to me. . . like they will today and tomorrow and the moment I am gone.
how stirring and full of the bitter and the sweet
It’s normal, yes, of course. I love how you honor here the weight, beauty and wrenching sadnesses that are a part of motherhood.
When this really gets me? Thinking about the climate crisis
Oh Dee…I can ‘feel’ those feelings, that combine and blend…life.
I call my son & wife “the kids” too sometimes…as my daddy called me and my ex. I see it as an honor to be of the elder generation, recognizing their status as the younger generation, their youthfulness. There are days where I wouldn’t mind at all being in opposite positions 😉
I told Ken I didn’t think calling them the kids was so bad!
Not even the moment you are gone will erase the memories of this amazing vacation you shared.
It is true. You must feel the same way about seeing Alaska with family. It was worth every nickel.