Closing the folder
5.7.09
Behind the desk in my home office, there’s a credenza atop which sits an ‘in’ box. All year long, I’ve kept a file folder under the ‘in’ box to hold articles of interest (or so I’ve hoped), funny bits, profound quotations, weird things, and other miscellany that I’ve sent to Sean twice a year, pretty much without faltering. I’ve read several times that college students like to receive actual mail, so this was my attempt — faithfully, each Monday and Thursday, to the point where I had a checklist of dates attached to the folder to keep me on track — to send him that mail. And I kept the folder where I’d see it all the time so that I wouldn’t forget to use it. For some reason, it was that important to me to send off my packages of wisdom and fluff.
This week, though, I tripped up: I forgot to fill an envelope for him on Monday. Maybe that’s because the folder was empty — I’d run out of quips and quotes to send — or maybe I’m getting used to hearing from him less often (he’s seriously busy with final rehearsals for the show he’s in) and so I (gulp) don’t think of him as often as I used to? (Wow, that would be sad, but I suppose it’s the natural evolution of things.)
By the time I’d realized my error last night, I had accumulated — just yesterday, just in the nick of time — a few items to send off today in kind of a Monday/Thursday combo package.
Will he notice this blip in the schedule? Doubtful. And it’s coming to an end soon anyway: I figure I’ll send a package next Monday, and then that will be it. He’ll be home shortly thereafter.
Last night I even took away the little scrap of paper on which he’d written his res hall address when he left in August (although he got the zip code a little wrong — it wasn’t until relatively recently that I informed him that the university’s zip code is not the same as our home zip code. This really came as news to him.).
Anyway, I’d kept that little scrap of address paper-clipped to the folder all year long, even though I’d long ago memorized it and didn’t need to refer to it. I suppose I kept it there, though, to have a handy reminder of his handwriting, which has often earned him accolades.
Sean will probably come home for good next Friday; we plan to move his last stuff out in the morning, just under the wire of what the UW had wanted us to do — be out by Friday. I can see why now: the construction is getting nasty out there.
Am I ready to have him home? Am I ready to get my wish to have my family all back together again? After all, even though this homecoming is a joyous time, I know that it will all just come around again: the feeling of invincibility and infinite summer in June, the creeping suspicion that the summer won’t last forever in July, the certainty that I was a fool for feeling invincible and infinite in June come August, the last waning days of mid- and late August when I know for sickening sure that he’s leaving again — and maybe for good.
Maybe — probably — he won’t be back next summer. So am I ready to be together again, knowing that it brings the return of sadness in August? We’ll see…
This week, though, I tripped up: I forgot to fill an envelope for him on Monday. Maybe that’s because the folder was empty — I’d run out of quips and quotes to send — or maybe I’m getting used to hearing from him less often (he’s seriously busy with final rehearsals for the show he’s in) and so I (gulp) don’t think of him as often as I used to? (Wow, that would be sad, but I suppose it’s the natural evolution of things.)
By the time I’d realized my error last night, I had accumulated — just yesterday, just in the nick of time — a few items to send off today in kind of a Monday/Thursday combo package.
Will he notice this blip in the schedule? Doubtful. And it’s coming to an end soon anyway: I figure I’ll send a package next Monday, and then that will be it. He’ll be home shortly thereafter.
Last night I even took away the little scrap of paper on which he’d written his res hall address when he left in August (although he got the zip code a little wrong — it wasn’t until relatively recently that I informed him that the university’s zip code is not the same as our home zip code. This really came as news to him.).
Anyway, I’d kept that little scrap of address paper-clipped to the folder all year long, even though I’d long ago memorized it and didn’t need to refer to it. I suppose I kept it there, though, to have a handy reminder of his handwriting, which has often earned him accolades.
Sean will probably come home for good next Friday; we plan to move his last stuff out in the morning, just under the wire of what the UW had wanted us to do — be out by Friday. I can see why now: the construction is getting nasty out there.
Am I ready to have him home? Am I ready to get my wish to have my family all back together again? After all, even though this homecoming is a joyous time, I know that it will all just come around again: the feeling of invincibility and infinite summer in June, the creeping suspicion that the summer won’t last forever in July, the certainty that I was a fool for feeling invincible and infinite in June come August, the last waning days of mid- and late August when I know for sickening sure that he’s leaving again — and maybe for good.
Maybe — probably — he won’t be back next summer. So am I ready to be together again, knowing that it brings the return of sadness in August? We’ll see…
