Have you ever had the flu? The kind where you are achy, and feverish and nauseous, all at once? You stay in bed, you drink your tea. You take your ibuprofin, and slurp up your nice chicken soup. After three days, surrounded by tissues and throat lozenges and cold, congealed Vicks, you wake up to realize that you feel much better. You give a huge sigh of relief, take a nice hot shower, eat a real meal. You check your email, go through your snail mail, clean up the dirty laundry on the floor and then you head for bed. You fall asleep with the joyful feeling that you are all better.
Then you wake up. Eight long hours have gone by, and in those hours, your flu germs have had a total field day. Your head hurts, your throat hurts, you have the chills and your joints are aching. You have had a big, nasty, frustrating, giant honking relapse.
I think I am having a relapse, my friends. Kate is all moved into her new place, and is having a wonderful time. She’s meeting new people, eating out at funky restaurants, going out to “trivia” at the local bar. It’s all good and I’m both relieved and delighted.
Matt has found a place in Amherst, and will be moving out there in a couple of weeks. Out of the crime ridden, crowded city where he has been living. I’m excited, relieved, happy and proud of him. He found this place, and made all of the arrangements, without any input or help from us.
Tim is at the end of a happy, if not terribly productive, summer. He is eager to move back to school, where he will share a Townhouse with four other guys. I’m excited for him, and happy that he’ll be in a place where he can cook his own healthy and tasty meals, instead of relying on the usual laxative stylings of the dining hall.
So you can see that I am joyful, proud, excited. This is so great. All three of them are independent, content, and moving into their own little spaces. And I am behind them all 100%.
Its just that I have started to wake up at night, thinking that I hear their long-ago voices calling out to me. I have just begun to walk through the grocery store taking note of their special, favored treats. Smoked mussels for Kate, hot sauce for Matty, bread and bagels and pasta for my baby boy. I have told myself that there is no need to buy those little treats, and I have studiously NOT placed them into my cart.
I’m really happy for them all, and secure in the knowledge that they all love and support each other, and still love Paul and me. This is great! Seriously!
It’s just that the fall is coming. The air is getting crisp. The stores are full of new clothes, new backpacks, shiny pens and new boxes of crayons. I can’t help but notice the little juice boxes and the sharp edged rulers. There are pudding cups and little packs of goldfish crackers everywhere I turn.
I am most definitely having a relapse. I only hope that hot tea will cure me this time around.