This menopause stuff is highly inconvenient

Here I am at a hotel in Surrey, the whole building is asleep.  The whole building that is, but me.  I woke up an hour ago just a few minutes after 4 am, after the hot flash abated, my brain decided that rather than drifting peacefully back into the sleep world that it would rather race over the events of the last few days.  Which is not the most practical choice, because I have to be fully functioning in a couple of hours, one does not want to be doing blue pencil appointments, and speak on panels, with a groggy mind. 

A lot has happened.  Saw Don read from his book, my heart swelling with pride.  My own book reading for SIWC.  Mark and his girlfriend showing up, very sweet, with two books for me in hand, and good advice to boot.  Brandy from the last time I was at this store, glowing, due in 4 months, it took me a while to place her, it didn’t really drop in until later, lying in bed, my husband asleep beside me, and then I remembered, our previous conversation from before.  This woman deeply moves me.  Another woman, the first one in line, who had managed to dig up all of my books.  Lovely face, thoughtful eyes. 

I also have been going for wardrobe fittings for the show I’m going to be doing, and it is SO much fun!  Love the women who are designing the clothes.  So much fun, saying hello to an old, but new experience.  I’m really, really having a great time, figuring out the character, the reasons, the whys.  So grateful to have something to focus on, to take my mind off this big change that has occurred.  The no-longer-a-full-time-mother shift.  It’s an odd thing to get ones mind around.

Yes, Will left.

And me, I sit here, my fingers perched over the keyboard, a million memories of the last few days at home flying through my head.  We hung out even more than usual in the days leading up to his departure.  I don’t know if it was him taking care of me, or me taking care of him, but somehow it’s like everything was amplified, like the world shifted and dropped into a deeper level.  Sweet, tender, like the nectar sucked from the bottom of a plucked honeysuckle flower, a faint, magical, sweet echo of the taste of childhood and hot dusty barefoot summers.

I managed to hold it together at the airport.  Pretended that he was only going for summer vacation.  That nothing was going to change, be different.  That it was just another hello-and-goodby type thing. We walked around, bought way too many books and magazines and candy.  Walked around some more.  Sat down, had a drink.  None of us thirsty, but none of us mentioning it.  The wristwatch on my arm, ticking away.

At the departure gate, no more putting it off, he bent over and gave me a hug, the kind of hug he used to give me when he was little, I felt him drop a kiss on the top on my head, and honest, I don’t even remember the last time one of my kids did that.  Made my eyes fill up.  But, luckily, he turned to hug Don and I kept my voice jokey and light and he didn’t see.  And I was glad about that, because if I had started crying, it might have made him sad too, and I didn’t want sorrow to be the overwhelming memory of when he took this brave step out into the next phase of his life.  I wanted him to be able to look forward to the future with open arms, a time of possibilities and joy.

We waved and called out, I love you, until he disappeared behind the opaque security screens.  And still, Don and I stayed, my hand in his now, his in mine, trying to catch a glimpse of our boy between the pencil width cracks in the panels that kept him from our view.

And suddenly, we saw a bit of him, and he waved and we waved, the tips of his fingertips rising up and over the top of the screens.  We waved until the security woman made us move back behind the belted off area. And when we turned back from our new spot, Will was gone.  And I hoped he didn’t think we left, abandoned him there, while he was still waving.  That we didn’t care and had gone on to our life.  Our new life without the day-to-day him. 

“He’s gone,“ Don said.  But still I stayed a waved a little more, just in case he came back and looked through the crack again. 

Finally, I turned my reluctant body around.  “Okay,“ my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.  Chock-full of cheery brisk, lets-get-to-it ness.  “We’re off.“

We started down the hall, and then I remembered that drink we had and that it was around 45 minutes back to our hotel and we were approaching a bathroom on my right.  “I’m just going to pop in here for a second,“ I said.

“Good idea,“ Don replied.

I zipped into the bathroom.  It wasn’t too busy.  There were a lot of stalls empty.  I went in.  Locked the door, pulling my shirt sleeve down over my fingers, because who-the-hell-wants-swine-flu?  Unspooled some toilet paper, started to lay it out on the seat, and then this wave of loss and sadness, engulfed me, almost dropped me to my knees.  He’s gone.  My boy has gone.  The memories of him hugging me good-by, still fresh around me.  He’s gone.  My boy has gone.

But it is not the end of the world, because he will be back.  Back but different, and that is the way of things.  Everything is the way it should be.  Life goes on, with joys and sorrows and one has to love and let go.  Hold tender in one’s heart, love enough to let unclasp the hand that wants that keeps them earthbound and safe, because that is the way of things. 

I just glanced back over what I’ve written.  The title of this blog, no longer suits. 

Oh well. 

It’s 6 am now.  I think I’ll sign off, crawl back in bed, and try to get another hour or so of sleep before the busy, busy day ahead of me.  Bye.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, October 23, 2009 in Chewing the Fat

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