Determined to Be Grateful

When I packed my daughter off to college last fall, there was no sadness. There was excitement and happiness for her. Whenever I thought of her, I pictured her in a beautiful, safe environment, learning lots of new wonderful things, testing her wings for the first time. I was really okay with it.

But when she walked out of the door today, pulling her suitcase, to go catch her bus after less than a week home, my heart ached. Hours later, it's still aching. And I'm wondering why.

I wonder if it has anything to do with my sadness over my son's impending return, too. He'll be leaving on Thursday. Unlike my daughter, he'll be taking a plane, flying to another continent. For months.

Many, many months.

I was okay -- before they both came home for the holidays. I really think I was okay. It was having them here, it was having us all together under the same roof again, the old dynamics coming into play, the laughter, the silliness, the discussions. It was having all that again that's drove home the reality of how our lives have changed.

Tonight my son is visiting a friend, spending the night there. I'll see him tomorrow afternoon and then Wednesday and then Thursday, he's off.

He told me not to be silly. And he's right. When I said I missed her, my daughter sighed, "Oh, Mom." And she was right, too. I'm lucky. Very lucky. I know that they're safe and well-taken care of. I know that being sad, only sad, is a luxury in a world in which earthquakes topple schoolhouses. I know it, but knowing doesn't make the pain go away.

This is the price for the joy of the holiday reunion. I'm grateful that my children love to come home, that I can afford to bring them home when they're both far away.

So now I take a deep breath, and I decide that whenever I feel the telltale surge of sadness, I'll close my eyes and pray. I'll say, "I'm grateful."