July 15, 2008

Let me begin today’s piece with an update: if you read yesterday’s blog, you’re well aware that my oldest son, Ryan, is now 19 years and one day old, has a miracle heart, and has been away from me for the longest time EVER (alone) since birth.

It has been three days … I am managing baby bird flying the nest much better than I ever imagined. He has called twice. Once to tell me there is no shower curtain on his tub and another to ask for Andy. (Girl talk, I suppose, given that Andy stopped playing golf long enough to answer about 20 back and forth missives (laughing hysterically as each new one arrived) and Andy does not stop golf for just anything

I stopped breathing into paper bags after 24 hours. I am no longer pacing. It was more comforting to eat an entire cheesecake all afternoon. I am preparing myself for the idea that this next year will fly by as fast as this last one and next year at this time, I will be stock piling Bed Bath and Beyond 20% off any one item coupons so we can get the best deals on desk lamps, under the bed boxes and electric spinning tooth brush refill heads. I will be saving QVC boxes to mail care packages.

That I get the chance to do this - something as simple as shop for Ryan’s room at college - another miracle I will relish and never take for granted.

Tomorrow, I get the 6 hour drive there and back to retrieve him. I will have 3 full hours to rehearse the reunion. In my heart, I will run from the car, in movie-like slow motion with my arms outreached and he will do the same, dropping his backpack and flinging his arms around me, giving me a crushing “God, Oh God have I missed you my mother ship” weeping, sobbing, blubbering hug.

“Take me home, mother love. Make me a fish sandwich and fries with tons of ketchup…”

A - hem.

Instead, I will pull up where he will be waiting. Unlock the door. Greet the advisor with a smile and he will get in.

“Yo …”

“Hey, Ry, how ya doing? Did you have a great time.”

“Mmmmmmmmmm. Uh. Huh.”

“Did you make any friends.”

“Uh huh.”

“You hungry.”

“Nope.”

“You sure because it is noon and you SHOULD be hungry.”

“Nope. MOm, Stop. I am NOT hungry.”

“K.”

And off we will go. He will divulge nothing. I will ask everything. In 15 minutes he will be sticking his long arm around the backside of the front seat looking for the stash of peanut butter stuffed pretzels I keep in the car for him. Because he is ALWAYS hungry!

It’s good to be mom.