That's how long it has been since I have held him, looked into his eyes, felt the stubble of his little man-face, and known for sure that he is really okay. We have talked; we have texted. We have spoken of love and shared cross words and made up again... all normal things but from 8 hours away.
I have cried in Walmart. I have cried at the mall, at work, and at church. I have cried in the kitchen, the living room, the shower. In some ways, it reminds me of childbirth. After nineteen hours of labor they put this tiny little piece of creation into your arms and all is forgotten. The mess, the pain... all fade into the sweetness of that face - which is, of course, the only reason you ever do THAT again. Somehow, when he walked out the door every power struggle we ever had, every pair of shoes I ever tripped over, every exhausted evening spent leaning over a tub, every vomiting session, every horrible piano recital... all gone. I miss him so much that I hurt. literally. It is the second hardest goodbye of my life.
Don't get me wrong. I wish him heaps and heaps of success. I don't wish him to come home, as much as I wish that I could roll back the clock to 1989 and do it all again. I love to hear of how much he loves his classes and how he is finally applying himself in school...
because someone is finally asking him to do something he cares about.