Son number two has decided he is going to join Son number one in Manitoba after all. He flies out tomorrow morning. The ticket is in hand, the suitcase is packed, my old black one I took the first time I left home for any length of time, when I went to Britain on a semester abroad at the age of 18. (How on earth did my mother let me go?) It doesn't quite seem real yet, but I'm sure it will tomorrow night when he isn't home for supper. When I pull the sheets off his bed to wash them...and don't put them back on again. When no one is home to let the dog out mid morning. Brio will miss him most of all, I think.
Maybe it's the openendedness of his leaving that upsets me. I don't know if he'll be gone three months, three years, or the rest of his life. We can't predict the future. All we can do is plan what we can and then muddle along as best we are able, playing whatever hand we are dealt as we go along. Actually, I guess that's true all the time, isn't it? Anyway, I've gained a new appreciation for what my mother felt when I packed up husband and baby and move to Canada twenty-four years ago.
I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm not so sure Brio will be...
Son Number Two, shipping out: