We ate and talked and laughed. I reveled in his stories and excitement. We was so truly contented. Truly contented. How many can really say that? Or how many people really feel it or are able to acknowledge it or recognize it when they have it? It was awesome to see him this way. He was exuberant about his life. We discussed school, his professors, classes and new friends. He explained some of the volunteer work in which he had gotten involved, and what it’s like for him at the collegiate level. We spoke of grandma and her cancer. I told him that I would let him know what the oncologist said at tomorrow’s meeting. His attitude was positive, like everything else about him, and mine was, too. At this point, we found no purpose in assuming the worst. He lectured me strongly on talking to her about alternative, non-toxic treatments, if she indeed would have to have some kind of treatment. He wanted me to talk to her about all the “stuff” I had raised him with, in dealing with health care issues and diet. I assured him that I had already begun my research, and would mention alternatives to her, but would not push the matter. It was ultimately her decision, her path to choose. It was urgently important to him, however, that she look and think outside the box and think non-toxic.
After gorging on a fabulous meal, I drove him back to his dorm. He asked if I could come to dinner one more night, before I left San Francisco to go back to MT. I was staying there several days, and I thought I might be able to make something work, but I couldn’t promise anything, as I was not solely in charge of my own schedule. We decided I would try, and then call him to confirm. That was another surprising and happy prospect. We hugged good-bye in front of his dorm and I didn’t feel the need to cry. I felt sad, but I felt like it was OK. I didn’t get that rush, that wave of desperate sadness. I was so cautiously grateful. I was possibly going to be seeing him, again, in a few days. And perhaps I’d be working in the area sometime soon. And there was a concert in early December that the boys were planning on attending. Maybe I would be here for that. I didn’t know for certain what lay ahead, but our separation seemed temporary this time, like camp.
I was quiet and pensive, as I watched him walk back into his dorm, and my demeanor was demure. I was humbled by the weight of watching him walk away from me, but I wasn’t falling apart, not breaking down. I floated through the wave without sinking and remained cautious, aware, and grateful. I was grateful for the evening, I was grateful for skating through mildly, at the time of his departure, the good-bye, and I was grateful that I would be seeing him again soon. Of that, I was certain. This time it wasn’t really good-bye. I suppose it wasn’t the last time either. It was only my illusion that it was.
I Reveled
November 21, 2010 by sandraschott
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