[Journal Entry #356]
Every morning, Dad reminds me to to say Goodbye to my mom. And I don't think it's because I forget. Not entirely but it's hard for me to say goodbye to her. It's strange. I mean, I don't want to make it seem like I purposely don't tell her goodbye because I don't like her, that's the farthest thing from the truth. And if someone finds this, I don't want them to think that I don't love my mother.
Because that's the opposite of how I feel. I definitely one-hundred percent love my mom. It's just I don't want her to think I'm not coming back. I know, it's sort of lame and childlike at this age (I can't believe I'm going to be twenty-six in a week) to think that if I say, Goodbye, Mom, it means goodbye forever.
We've always been so close it's hard to think about not being around her for a while. And you know, of course you know, my life is changing at such a rapid pace it's hard to keep up with everything. And alright, you're right little-baby-journal, maybe I should just get over it because this is what everyone goes through at some point.
I've, essentially, lived the life of any contemporary male stuck in suburban purgatory. I've lived at home most of my life and when I did finally move out, it wasn't for that long and I came tumbling back to my home town the same way the boulder comes down every time Sisyphus tries to push it to the top.
But at the bottom of the hill -- or in this case, home -- my mom was always there to catch me. Even though I'm bigger and larger than I used to be, she's always there to catch me and that's something I won't have anymore.
And I'm not saying that I can't stand on my own because I know I can. But there's something about my mom and my love for her and her love for me that is so comforting, it is so soothing, I can't imagine what it would be like to be without it every night after work. We constantly talk about everything and nothing. And it's the healthiest relationship you've ever had.
I don't know why I'm so terrified, though. I mean it's not like I won't e-mail her or take time out of my day to video chat with her. It's an arresting feeling. And maybe, maybe it's because I'm so used to helping her out when she needs it, too.
I think I'm more worried that there won't be anyone to take care of her the same way she takes care of me. And, yes, little-baby-journal, I know my Dad and my brother will be there for a time but -- and no offense against them -- I don't think they talk to her the way I do. I'd like to believe that I fulfill a very particular role in her life that no one else does.
Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit but I don't know. All I know is that I'm going to miss being around when she needs me or when I need her. I just have to remember that I'm not her little ghostbuster (that was weird, to refer to myself in that way just now) anymore. I have to remember that I'm making her proud and that's all I really have to do as her son.