So, the reality of the situation hit me pretty hard during dinner tonight. Thanks to the fact that I have to work this weekend, that dinner, a mishmash of pasta to rid the cabinets of all of its contents, was the last time I’ll ever sit around that particular dinner table with my parents. This move is something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time, but it’s always been a distant whisper. Now, it’s a raging storm right outside my doorstep and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to withstand the gale. This is the first time in years that I’ve been unable to sleep due to a mind so full of thought and sadness that it could morph into a black hole. I looked for solace in the aid of fermented grapes, but to no avail. My mind still races with anxieties of the future.
I am a worrier by nature. It’s what I do best. I worry that I’ll be able to pay rent, and that my parents will arrive safely to their final destination. I worry about how I’m going to keep my sanity without being able to vent the days frustrations at the dinner table. I worry that without my mothers uncanny ability to spot when I’m in a funk that I’ll sink into a deep spiraling depression that seems to be just beckoning on the horizon.
Coming to grips with the fact that I won’t see my sweet little Norbu until my birthday is also adding to this pile of misery. I’ve never not had an animal companion and this new life sans a pet is going to be quite the adjustment.
I’ve been blessed with some of the most supportive, kind, compassionate and caring of friends. I know they will help see me through this difficult time, but I know no amount of affection will bring comfort on that first night in the new apartment.
To most having the parental unit move clear across the country is a fresh of breath air. An opportunity to live life on your own terms, and to finally spread your wings. To me, however, it signifies something much more heinous. The details of which are inappropriate for a blog of this transparency. Suffice it to say that this move conjures up feelings of abandonment, loss, and depravity no child should ever experience. I know this all sounds wildly exaggerated, but trust me, it is not.
I’m losing the two people most dear to my heart. The two people who showed me what it means to love unconditionally, even if their daughter wasn’t of blood relation. They helped me blossom into the woman that I am today, and for that I am eternally grateful. God only knows where I’d be today if not for them and the guidance they provided me. I know I’ll get to see them next year, but a lot happens in a year and the thought that I won’t be able to share my life with them so freely saddens my heart.
I try very hard to maintain a stiff upper lip and to keep control of my emotions, and I’ve done a good job of that until this evening, when the cup that holds my sadness could hold no more and overflowed. I’m not good with goodbyes, or even with finishing a good book. Thankfully though, that’s exactly what this feels like, the end of a good book in a long series. Here’s to the sequel.