Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Ernest Called Tonight!

I had one call after Ernest arrived in Japan on Sunday the 13th at around 1 a.m. (thanks to his friend Ern's phone, or more correctly -- thanks to Ern's mom for getting Ern the international cell phone).

It's been a weekandahalfplus. And I am jonesing for him. I miss him. So bad. I haven't talked/blogged about it because I'm embarassed that I miss him so much. But he's my baby. He's always been a delightful and stressless child. (His childbirth was way more painful more difficult than his brother's, so maybe his good karma is making up for that????)

It's been easier to let Frank grow up because I still had Ernest. But with Ernest gone too? The nest feels very empty. And I'm rearranging the nest at the same time, so I look at his stuff but he's not here...

And that's starting to sound like a mom version of a Santana song:

Well, let me tell you about the way he looked
The way he acted, the curl of his hair
His voice is deep and cool
His eyes are clear and bright
But he’s not here...

It wasn't so bad last year. His trip and his brother's overlapped, and the HH and I went away for a weekend in the middle... and it just seemed shorter.

Ernest couldn't find the rechargeable batteries for his camera. So he took my camera, and left his. I like his camera. Especially when I found some pictures on it. Here he is last year at Stonehenge.
Stonehenge? How cool freaking awesome is that? There are other great photos but... they can wait.

Anyway, where the heck was I? Oh yeah. The phone rang a few minutes ago. And it was him. He wanted permission to buy a sword. Well, I told him before he left he could get a sword if the shipping was reasonable. But he called anyway -- (12:30 p.m. lunchtime where he is. Where the heck is he??? Kyoto?) -- to ask permission.

Isn't that the nicest, bestest child in the universe? So I'm jonesing for Friday, when I drive 2.5 hours (without traffic issues) to pick him up. And he's probably not. Jonesing for me, that is. And that's OK. It has to be.

"If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were. " -- Kahlil Gibran

Longing for the return...


Anonymous said...

I understand completely.

barbra said...

Oh man, that is so sweet...I can't imagine my 3-year-old baby boy going away on a trip! Ack!

Louise said...

Mine are 4 and 6. I dread the days when they travel across the world alone. Maybe then it will be better, but I don't know. I'm sure I'll be jonesing, too! (Had to look that up!)

Anonymous said...

I'm sure deep down inside he misses you just as much!

David said...

Thank you so much for your warm comments on my blog.
It means so much to us.
We both enjoy your posts!


Anonymous said...

The boys and I are "jonesing" for Ernest too. We are excited he is coming home from "mypan" soon.

Vanessa said...

YAY! I can't imagine how much you miss him. Granted you are biased, but he does seem to be the perfect "bestest" child.

smalltownmom said...

My lovely mother-in-law sent a profound e-mail, which she said I could post here:

" Your "empty Nest" blog brought such a flood of memories. I probably wasn't a very good mother,[STM says NOT TRUE] but 30 years ago that "if I'm not a mother who/what am I?" echoed thru my mind. Sure, I had a job, and I liked what I did, but it was secondary to being a provider for my children.

As the older 2 left, as you say, there was always the youngest. That last reason for being.

Actually, searching for a lifeline is why I went back to church, to
look for something to fill the need to be needed.

The emotion at the departure of the last fledgling is hardwired into our mothering natures; unique and understood only by those who have stood in that empty nest.

proud to be your
m-i-l "

Jenn @ Juggling Life said...

You're very brave to let him go so far; it's an amazing experience for him, but obviously hard for you.

Because I have four kids, I've always had someone left at home when they got to camps or visiting grandparents. I'm sure I'll feel exactly the way you do when everyone's gone.