This week I am a master of the art of being lucky and sad. Like everyone, I feel like I am hanging on by a thread.
Coping and just getting by. Worrying about all the ongoing changes and unrest that we, as average Joes, don’t have enough clout to do much about.
While we all have our own personal battles, each news update brings more doom and gloom. More announcements. More worries.
All this and winter too
And to top it all we’re now just going to let the sun start setting even earlier? I am not ready for winter darkness yet.
It’s not even as if we can ignore the newspapers or turn off the TV. The second the laptop fires up or you pick up your mobile there is more.
Social media no longer a fun swipe-through to catching up with your pals’ antics. Being amused by your friend’s young lad dressed as a giant pickle or someone’s drunk aunt dancing at their wedding. It’s all just adverts for things we can no longer afford.
This makes me sad. Instead of cracking on with my to-do list, I am sitting on the couch, toasty under my dog, indulging in an autumnal sunbeam. This makes me lucky.
Until I remember I should be at work. There’s a lot to be done this week and if actual work wasn’t enough, I’ve clearly lost my mind and invited a tonne of people to the house on Saturday.
Goodbye to my biggest bam
Our house isn’t visitor-ready. It’s barely ready for us, and we live here, although I appear to be the only one with this opinion.
Maybe it’s time to stop rewatching Grey’s Anatomy from series one and stop avoiding social events. Maybe it’s time to dust off the hosting skills, throw open the doors and welcome everyone back.
Back in time to say ‘goodbye’ to biggest bam as she heads off on an antipodean adventure.
When people congratulate you on your pregnancy news, they don’t warn you parenting is like throwing yourself out of a plane.
Parachuting with little people who have no idea how to open their own parachutes. So you open them all and once they’re safe, you hit the ground. But you don’t die (hurray).
You just stand up, check they’re all fine and crack on with making dinner.
Our three don’t know they’ve got it made. Food on the table. Clothes cleaned. Netflix accounts. Hugs on demand. I’m giving serious thought to resigning as a mother and becoming a stay-at-home daughter.
Remember way, way back when folks emigrated and that was it? Simpler times when letters took weeks to arrive. Monthly phone calls were prearranged for a catch-up. Visits were much longed-for but too expensive to be often.
We now have the internet to allow us real-time conversations and video messaging, even. There are days when the thought of her leaving makes me incredibly sad. For myself. For what I’ll be missing.
This is heaped on top of the world already making me sad. On top of all the tragedy and brokenness.
Then I think of her
But then I stop and think of her. And how she chose us and we found ourselves in the same place at the same time walking this road together, albeit briefly. Some may say it’s chance, but I only feel lucky.
On Monday, once we’ve waved her sisters off to school and walked the dogs, everything will be done. Ready. Organised and packed because you cannot surprise a mum who overthinks, I saw it all coming three months ago.
We’ll load her luggage into the car and drive the 60 miles to the airport, where I’ll hear one of my all-time favourite noises. The sound of a suitcase rolling through the airport.
Except this time it won’t be for all of us, it will be for one of the biggest parts of my heart leaving.
It’s time for me to trust the universe to look after her and to eventually bring her home safe. Naturally, I’ve installed a safety measure.
She’ll start with one of the people I trust most in the world to look after her, because that’s what best friends are for right?
Good luck Sara, she’s all yours for the next wee while at least.
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