Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Next Stage...

On New Years Day in 1979 Dean and I pulled out of Lincoln with our first-born, 3-week old daughter securely strapped in her car seat in the back of our 1976 Datsun B-210.  A moving van had departed days earlier for Denver with all of our worldly possessions.  I left with tears in my eyes but full of anticipation for the beginning of the next stage of our life.  31 years later on New Years Day, Dean and I once again pulled out of Lincoln.   This time we were a caravan of a Budget truck, a Honda Accord and our youngest 29-year old doctor daughter securely strapped in the seatbelt of her our yippee! Subaru. 
We drove 9 1/2 hours to Lincoln, arriving at 3:30 p.m. on Thursday, picked up a Budget truck, loaded it and two cars, and departed a mere 18 hours later for another 9 1/2 hour drive to Casper.  The down side was we had to carry all the worldly possessions Abby had chosen to take with her to Ecuador, store at our house, or bequeath to us or her sister, through a path dug into 15 inches of snow, with temps ranging from 9 to 15 degrees.  The up side was that I was too exhausted to even consider shedding a tear or two when we pulled away for the trip to Casper.  A few of those tears came later, after hours of total boredom on the interstate, when my mind began wandering over the memories of the past 5 1/2 years and the knowledge that a new and exciting part of Abby's life is beginning.  A part in which I will play a much smaller part.

So far my emotions range from one extreme to the other and they literally change from moment to moment.  One minute I am totally fine with this whole move and feel completely confident I will be able to smile and say goodbye to Abby (on Saturday, January 16 at 7 a.m.) in front of hundreds of weary travellers at the security line in Denver.  Then out of the blue, in the next moment, my throat aches, tears threaten to spill over and sometimes do and I am positive I will never, never, never, ever be able to say goodbye to Abby.  Hundreds of weary travellers are going to be distracted during their wait at the security line by watching a sobbing, blubbering, snot-covered woman being dragged away by a bald and bearded man shaking his head and pretending like he doesn't really know her.  Bets anyone?

Now begins the work of sorting and divvying up precious possessions.



Al said...

Dibs on the retro bead curtain!

Seriously, what a poignant post. Sadly, I think my mom felt that way once, too, but after multiple such moves (granted, not to another hemisphere) I'm pretty sure the last time she did a little victory dance.

Art's just happy not to have to ever again move a big trunk full of my rocks!

Probably not a lot I can say (like, "At least you have an excuse to go to Ecuador," or "think of the opportunity Abby has and the adventures ahead of her") that will make you happy about this. Hang in there, Cathy.

abby rose said...

At least you won't have to spend the rest of your day in an airport/airplane with puffy red eyes and mascara stains under your eyelids. It will be a long, sad day. I love you!