She’s Gone

Thanksgiving has come and gone again. It happens every year. Wahhhhh!

I just dropped Layla (my only) at the airport. I feel like I just picked her up. (You may know this feeling.)

After a month of anticipation, loading up the fridge with her favorite snacks from Trader Joes, getting all the junk I’ve been storing in her bedroom out of her bedroom …the week is over. What’s a mother to do?

She goes to Whole Foods! Because it’s so close to Burbank Airport! Maybe Whole Foods can cheer her up. Of course it can! Orderly, spotless, relatively safe, paycheck-sucking Whole Foods. Home of immaculate produce and pristine floors. We pay for it all at check out. I’m usually more cost-conscious when it comes to groceries, especially lately. BUT NOT TODAY!

I leisurely browse up and down every aisle in some kind of a daze. This takes my mind off of the strange combination of sadness and relief. The week has concluded but it was well done. Daughter departed happy. Well fed. Nurtured. Heard.

I can count on this Whole Foods (not the one in Sherman Oaks) to stock the freshest Castelvatrano olives — not pre-packaged or vacuum-sealed. Yuk. Life is too short for mealy olives. I shall buy a pound and pop them into my mouth one by one tonight. All of them. Along with some raw almonds. And maybe a martini.

Yogurt — check. Eggs — check. Avocados, Grapes. And Zucchini! Yes, I know! I’ll make zucchini soup when I get home with some fresh mint from the garden. Soup always comes to my rescue when I need to be distracted! The process seems to ease the ache of not being with someone I love. Plus zucchini soup will be a welcome respite from all that caloric Thanksgiving fare. Though on second thought let’s get a couple pounds of thickly sliced roast turkey to soak up all the leftovers. (For how many days can we eat leftovers before they turn into something else?)

Any kind of food right now is a diversion. Do not try to stop me from loading up my wagon with all the comfort it can hold.

I miss her already. I know we’ll be together at Christmas and it’s right around the corner. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that the future always comes. Did someone say Haagen-daaz? Camembert? Where is that truffle infused honey?

Truth is, it’s the initial departure that stings. That driving away from the airport with an empty passenger seat. Tmrw I’ll be ok. Back to business as usual, “pivoting,” and diving into new endeavors I can’t wait to get back to. There’s never enough time in the day. I’m curious about what the 12 new students in my spring semester songwriting class will be like. Who will be awesome? There’s usually at least 2! I savor my alone space and time for myself. I look forward to it. I do. But … here we are. Drop off lane.

Time is surely a freight train. 

I remember writing about taking her to college in 2015. What a strange trip that was. I can still see her staring out the plane window looking terrified. I was terrified too. It was let-go time. “The Launch” my friend called it. I thought ‘launch’ was an awful way to look at it. But I don’t think so any more. It’s a perfect word as a matter of fact. 

I remember coming back home without her. That was weird too. Sitting on her bed. Looking at all her stuff, smelling her pillow, eyeing her diaries. (Dare I? I dare not.)

But once when she was in middle school I was poking around the top shelf above her desk and found the red flip phone she had said she lost (I think she was hoping we’d replace it with an iPhone.) We did! I never told her I found that red flip phone. Because she’d know I WAS SNOOPING! 

Long ago I reached for you and there you stood.

When they graduate and choose to STAY far away you realize they may never be a part of your day-to-day life ever again. So it’s precious when they visit. (If I missed your event or didn’t call you back yet, please forgive me.) I’ve been myopic. When she closes her bedroom door I patter about the house doing small chores in case she pops out. Which she does. Pretty often. Cuz … she likes us! And wants to be around us! Imagine that. 

But alas. She’s gone again. Jet Blue flight 3.

I still go into her room when she leaves. I still smell her pillow. I still think about that red flip phone. I still sit on her bed and ask myself … how did his happen? 

I think it’s time to make that soup.

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