Going Away

For the first time since June 7th, I have both of my children home at the same time. My youngest spent 8 days in Siesta Key, Florida with a friend.
                               
What the heck? I need someone to take ME to Siesta Key for 8 days. What is this life she is living? We packed her bags the day before and when I dropped her off she hugged me. Not a lingering hug, but a short, obligatory type of hug. "Bye Felisha," she said, waving to me.

I told her to text me when she got in. Did she? No. She did not. I texted her, "I miss you and I hope you're having fun." She'd text me back things like this,
                         
Rick and Morty gifs are her favorite. She sent me a few pictures and called me once. I was grateful to hear from her. She exploded all of her adventures out to me and then was like, "Okay. Talk to you later." She posted pictures on Instagram and Snapchat. I saw her by the pool, on a white-sand beach, at Busch Gardens. She was having the time of her life. I was happy for her.

I was in the shower when she got home. I stepped out and heard her voice. I dressed quickly and went to meet her. She was smiling, was a lot tanner and just a smidge taller than when she had left. "How's it going?" she said to me, casually. I held my arms out, "I don't really hug, mom." She reminded me. That's a lie. Sometimes she hugs when she forgets that she doesn't REALLY hug. She fist bumped me after being away for 8 days. That's what life is like now. *knife in the heart*

Nine hours later, we loaded the car and drove 3 hours to drop off my oldest for 2 weeks at Governor's School. She was so excited. She had dreamed of this day. In March of 7th grade, someone told her about Governor's School. She watched the Youtube video over and over, she looked at their audition requirements. "I want to go, mom. I have to." She practiced her audition solos for 10 months. Every day. It was finally here. We got in early to have Father's Day lunch and then we moved her into the dorms and attended orientation. Then it was time to leave.

There were kids and parents crying but we did good. We held it together. There was no reason to be sad. I was happy for her. She is my hugger. She leaned into me and hugged me tight. I breathed in her smell- warm vanilla and her floral, pomegranate shampoo. "Have fun, work hard and behave." She rolled her eyes, Of course. "I love you."

We made the 3 hour ride home in silence. It's been strange the past 2 weeks because my youngest is in the gym for 4 hours every evening so my husband and I have had a lot of time to ourselves. We made the most of it. I went out with friends, we had quiet dinners alone, watched movies, reconnected. The house seemed so quiet. "I wonder if this is what it will be like when it's just you and I again."

My oldest texted me everyday. Just an update- things are fine, I'm alive, I love you. She'd post pictures on Snapchat every now and then. Pictures of pieces she was working on, the practice room late at night, fellow classmates. Giving me glimpses of what her life was like when she was away. She called me 3 times. The last time, 5 days had elapsed. I answered the phone and her voice on the other end seemed foreign to me. She talked excitedly about her recital and her new friends and when I hung up - I felt terrible. I'd developed this routine without her. She'd only been gone 2 weeks and I was already used her her being away.

On Friday, we drove back up to watch her recital. We sat in the audience and I watched her walk across the stage. She looked beautiful- her hair just right and her eyeliner perfectly applied. Her flute shone under the light and when she brought it to her lips, a beautiful sound came out. I was so proud of her.

Afterwards she met up with us and gave us a quick hug and kiss. "There is a dance tonight, like, right now. So I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you." And she left as quickly as she came. I sighed. There were more pressing matters than us, for sure.

The next morning, we watched her ensemble concert and packed her things back into the car. She had made plans with her friends to go to lunch and we obliged. All the teenagers sat at one table. Some of them could have been mistaken for college students, others hadn't quite grown into their bodies yet. The parents were relegated to a separate table where we made small talk and lamented about the cost of instruments and shared the dreams of our children.

On our way home, she told us about her time there. The long hours spent practicing, her new friends, how they had named the squirrels on campus after dead composers. "They talked to me about early admission into the residential program. Sometimes they take sophomores. I want to apply to it for next year."
"You'd be okay with living 3 hours away for 3 years?"
"Yeah, it'd be fine. Plus, I could come home every few weeks for the weekend and the summers."
"Well, let's look at the application when they release it."
"Okay," she said before falling asleep.

So, both the children are home again. For now. People have asked if I missed the kids while they were away. That's a loaded question. I've missed them all the time, this whole time. When they start to crawl, you miss them being tiny newborns nuzzled into your neck, smelling their milk breath, and when they turn to toddlers, you miss them being babies. When they are preschoolers, you miss the wispy-haired toddler days. Then they go to school and you miss the sweetness of the preschool days. Then one day, they stop bringing home pictures that they drew and you miss the pile on your counter, then the day comes when they don't cuddle you any more. This person who was once a part of you becomes this whole separate person.

That is the cruelty of motherhood that no one prepares you for. That it's just one, long, drawn-out goodbye. We spend 9 months anticipating their arrival and then we have 18 years to learn to let them go. It is the most beautiful, yet painful thing in the entire world. Like layers of skin being pulled back over, and over again.

Yes, I miss my girls when they are gone. But I miss them all the time. I miss them being little. When they stand eye to eye with me, little women themselves, I can hardly believe that they ever grew inside of me. The days when they were little are like ghost memories now, from some other lifetime, and even I am a stranger to myself.

While painful, it doesn't make me sad. If it did, I wouldn't be able to go on. I'd drown in the sorrow. It's hard to explain this feeling that I feel now. Like they are water slipping through my fingertips, like the universe shifted without me ever knowing it. It's hard and strange and wonderful all at once.

Maybe it's because I'm PMSing or because their birthdays are coming up that I'm feeling sentimental. People always tell you not to blink, that it goes by so fast but you can't even know until you get there. And we're getting there.