Forgetting to say "Good-bye"

When we finally said "good-bye" to Mark yesterday, I was completely unprepared.

I feel as though the last year should be titled "The Great Adventures of the Magnificent, Musical Mark (and his Crippled, Supportive Mother)".  The past 12 months have been a blast and a blessing in my life.  If I hadn't had Mark and his lessons, and auditions, and college applications, I probably would have slipped slowly into madness, wallowing in self-pity and broken-ankle pain.  However, spending so much time with Mark has been THE best.

Up until yesterday, it was non-stop with Mark.  Even after he made his choice of attending Michigan, there was the craziness and joy and busyness of Interlochen.  When we got home a month ago (was it really just a month ago?), I thought things would settle down, but we dove into life here.  We moved furniture, cleaned stuff out, Mark went on lots and lots of dates, we played and we worked.  We drove out to Michigan and worked and organized and shopped some more.  Even just an hour before we left Mark, we were at Lowe's, buying him his own refrigerator, followed by a quick trip to Meijer to stock it with essential Mark food.

I noticed after arriving at Michigan that Mark was not his normal, ebullient self.  He was actually rather quiet.  I attributed it to auditions--they are usually traumatizing for any musician.  However, when I finally sat down on his newly decked-out bed in my mom's house to wrap up some last minute business before we left, he turned to me with tears in his eyes, and said, "I'm really going to miss you guys."

It was then that I realized that I was losing another boy.  I had been so wrapped up in helping him navigate Ann Arbor, and buying sheets, and rearranging my house, that I hadn't taken the time to really say "good-bye".

All I could do was hold him and let the tears flow.

Mark is my angel boy.  He always has been.  His heart is golden.  He makes friends easily because he is a friend.  He loves people.  He heart is soft and sensitive.  He always has a song in his mind, and a smile on his face.  He makes others happy.

And at this time, when he should have been thinking about college, and himself, and should have been shooing me out of the house, he was the one who remembered to take the time to tell me he loves me.

As we were driving away, and I was crying, John said to me, "It's hard seeing them grow up, isn't it?"

No, it's not hard at all.  For me, I love seeing my kids grow up.  I love seeing them live a happy life.  There's nothing that makes me happier than seeing them make great decisions and because of their decisions, become better people.

My sadness is all selfish.  When I came home, I saw again all that Mark helped me do this past month around the house.  I saw the lawn with its neatly trimmed edges, all done voluntarily (and happily) by Mark before we left.  I saw the patio that he laid in the back yard.  I remembered the games of Nertz we had played at his request.

And I didn't see him.  I didn't see his horn music, strewn all over his bedroom floor.  I didn't hear him talking in his cute chipmunk voice.  Where were the piles and piles of yarn?  He wasn't here to make me laugh.  And that's what's so hard.  As I told someone else, I've spent years building a piece of heaven right here on earth with my family.  Seeing my kids leave makes me feel like I'm losing some of that happiness.

And here's a testament to why I love my kids more than anything else.  When I got home, after a six hour drive, I fell apart on the couch, feeling so bad that Mark is gone.  And guess what happened?

The phone rang.

Guess who it was?

Markie-Boy, checking in that I was okay, and calling to tell me that he loves me.  My tears subsided, and I listened while he reviewed with me all that he needs to do tomorrow--classes, driving, parking, buying books.  I could hear the excitement in his voice, and I knew that he can hardly wait for this new adventure.  It's what his life has been--one big adventure, so far--and I can hardly wait to see what new adventures lie ahead.

I love you, Markie-Boy, and I'm sorry I forgot to say "good-bye".