Wednesday, 3 August, 2022 – E spent the day riding around Amsterdam yesterday, based on the 6-second video he posted and from what I could see by tracking him. I think he stopped to eat or get something to drink at this cafe, so I took several screenshots, trying to imagine what it was like for him to sit outside in the sun, by the water, with boats and cars and bikes going by. He grew up riding a bike in Kansas City and then, in Denver; I wonder what it feels like to be in Copenhagen or Amsterdam and have so much of the road devoted to space for bike riders.
E has been living far away from Kansas City, for several months at a time, for a few years now. I always miss him, and cry (a little) saying goodbye, even when I know I will see him in a few weeks. When I say goodbye to my children, leaving them somewhere I will not be, I feel unsettled, at a visceral level, something so deep inside me that I cannot find the right word for it. I know they must leave. I do not even want them to stay, because I know it is important for their sense of well-being and self-reliance that they go somewhere I am not. When I see them again, I want them to be happy to see me – and D. I know that if they think they have to come home, or if I am not okay when they leave, it will be harder for them to feel good about coming home again.
I know all of this and yet, it still does not feel right that they are 500 or 4,500 miles away. So, after they leave, I spend a few days not really concentrating on anything very well. I know it will happen – my distractedness – and I should simply accept it. But every time, it feels different, something new to adjust to, all over again.
Maybe it is a little different every time – the adjustment, the acceptance – because they are different. They are older, more mature, more ready, more self-reliant.
And maybe I am, too.