At the butt-crack of dawn on Sunday morning, I climbed into the day-before’s-clothes and drove Nate to the airport where I dropped him off curbside. (Some impatient asshat behind my car in the drop-off lane had the audacity to lay on his horn while I was hugging my uniformed sailor goodbye. Have I mentioned lately how disgusted I am with humanity in general?)
Those two flurrying weeks of holidays and Nate’s Navy leave have left me feeling…reflective. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” I think Nate slept in his bed twice the entire time he was “home.” Home being the operative word. Generally, in the flickers of brief moments he was home, he was showering, dressing in his civvies, and immersing himself in a cloud of cologne in preparation of yet another night out on the town. (The fragrance will linger in the house and in our cars for a while, which is a bittersweet thing). Granted, he kept his major “family commitments.” He spent Christmas Eve with us, accompanied us to visit his grandpa, creamed me in a couple of games of Cribbage, and treated the two of us to a wonderful assortment of sushi from our local sushi bar. In those best of times, he was sweet, personable, loving, and funny.
But mingled among that was a hardness I’d never seen before. Chip-on-the-shoulder hardness. “It’s my leave, and I will do what I want.” And he did. He never lifted a finger around the house, never picked up after himself, never chipped in to help. Well, mostly because he was simply never here (although he certainly made messes in short order). It was all about him and the unsaid clenched-jaw declaration was, “Live with it.”
And so I did. Sometimes with tears pressing against the back of my eyes. Often feeling disappointed—when he’d decline to stick around for a special dinner. And often feeling angry. Then…joy at his unexpected appearance! Only to take another shower, leave the bathroom a mess, and fly out the door in yet another cloud of cologne.
Most of me understood. Nate has a large circle of friends and he is 23, after all. And for the most part I kept my mouth shut because I did understand. I called him out on his rudeness a couple of times, but I kept the mom-lectures to myself. You know, like references to drunken sailors…
So, he’s gone now. In fact, today is the day he heads to San Diego for his next leg of training. Moving forward, moving on. It is, after all, the order of things. Nature taking its course.
And in my reflective frame of mind, I am working hard to not feel left behind.
