Two of my 4 sons moved to the United Kingdom to live and work. One is in the architectural field (2nd son) and the other is in the British Army (4th son).
Last night my youngest (4th) landed in the Mother-Continent, in Kenya to be exact, at the Army Base there. And all I can think about is that he’s only half a continent away, roughly 2950 kms (1820 miles). I know, what’s the big deal, well, he’s normally 2 continents away, roughly 9100 kms ( 5635 miles). And that’s a big deal.
I’ve seen him 3 times since February 2012. Twice he came back to South Africa, and I went there in February this year for his passing out parade. Now that was a BIG DEAL. Talk about proud, I think (actually I know) that I bored everyone to tears talking about it and him. Over and over and over, (you get the picture) again. He was so smart and grown up and my little boy was gone.
There’s something about when the last child leaves home that’s harder to deal with than the others. I suspect it’s because for a while it was just the 2 of us. When he had been gone about 6 weeks I climbed into my wardrobe and screamed and cried for around 4 hours. I thought my heart would never be the same. It was a physical pain, and I could no longer keep it in and to myself, so when it broke it did it in magnificent style. I worry that I’m over attached to him, as more 4 and a half years later, when I think about how far away he is, it still hurts like hell. I feel a pull to return to the UK to be nearer to him and my 2nd son. But I’ve 2 sons here as well, and a grandaughter, and I know if I moved there, I’d miss the 2 here. But such is a mothers’ dilemma.
Anyhoo, back to the original topic. All that stands between myself and my youngest is a 6 hour flight, that’s all that separates us.
And my heart skips with joy, and breaks with the pain from knowing he’s so near yet so far.