Going Home

 My son Mack, my eldest,  is visiting from Florida, where he lives and has a fantastic and mysterious job in computer network security (you know, the guys who keep hacker/crackers out of your stuff).  He has been there a year, before that residing in Phoenix while he completed his Bachelor's degree.  Before this visit, I saw him six months ago.  I miss him so much.

He was the little guy who fulfilled a lifetime dream; because of him I became a mother.  I was nearly thirty-one when he was born, and he was everything I had dreamed of.  I could not get enough of him.  He was like a gift to myself that I got to open every day, again and again.  My world revolved around him.  

I quit working outside the home two weeks before he arrived and became a full time mom, for which I am eternally grateful. Our schedules were identical; he and I napped together, ate together, slept during the night at the same times.  Most of the time within touching distance.  Joined at the skin.  It was that way until his brother arrived eighteen months later.

He and I have similar senses of humor, way off center and scorchingly irreverent, with almost nothing or no one is immune. We still can talk for hours on the phone, or in person, or spend companionable hours in a car or a garden. We challenge one another's intellect, creativity and preconceived notions.  He has a Code of the West sense of justice and honesty as well.

I have enjoyed the past few days.  Today, he leaves for home.  Yesterday, we went deep into the coastal mountainous forest to look for the illusive Pacific Giant Salamander (it barks!), a trip that evolved into a photography quest.  I had an interesting reaction just thinking about him leaving.  I actually got physically sick to my stomach, all queasy and achey, like fear or regret mixed with an ulcer.  It was unexpected.  I told him about the feeling.  He said, 'I'm sorry'.  

I don't want my kids to feel sorry for me when they leave after visiting.  Guilt is icky and gets in the way.  Guilt feels like Velcro ripping as two people part; you can actually hear it in your soul.  So, no guilt.  But I will always feel a little nostalgic, or a faint yearning for the other days when home was where I was.