The Girl Without A Face

My son and I had a trip to Toronto planned for months, today was the day we were set to drive here from home. He’s been busy in his room since summer vacation started, I’ve been working through countless thoughts and emotions on my end. One of them, of course, is him going off to college. I want to make sure I have enough planned for us this year, I want to make sure I’m available to him at all times. Even if just to watch an episode of a show together. It’s an adjustment period. Not quite there, but not quite where we used to be either.

Yesterday, I made sure to let him know to pack his suitcase for the morning. We agreed to leave by 9am, although I suppose we weren’t rushing to get here for anything. Our major event is just a concert on Sunday. I’ve been quietly working through heavy emotions on my end, thankful to my former self for taking off work yesterday in anticipation for this trip.

In the past two years, since I started traveling again, I’ve learned a few things that have helped reduce my anxiety. I’ve also gained confidence in my abilities as I removed abusive parties from my life. I usually drop the dog off the night prior to avoid another stop on the way out of town. I call the vet ahead of time to get him medicine for his inevitable upset stomach. I know what I need to pack, I don’t worry about packing excess. If I pack too much it seems to put more stress on me, so I’ve learned to pack light. I remind my son of what he will need and for how many days, but I don’t police what he brings. He’s old enough to pack his own suitcase.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping the past few days, so this morning I woke up early. Not wanting to get out of bed but at the same time wanting to escape my reality. I went upstairs to wake up my son, he opened his eyes, I went about my morning. A half hour later, I went back to check on him, he fell back asleep so I woke him up again. I checked again 15 minutes later, and lo and behold, he was fast asleep. This third time I woke him up with frustration in my voice. He got up this time and I felt mild anger rise. He looked at me, even rolled his eyes. To my surprise, I was able to walk away after expressing my frustration and the fact that we agreed on leaving at 9am this morning.

I checked back 10 minutes later, he was getting ready. I explained why I was frustrated, he wasn’t having it. We still got past it, and before I knew it we were on the road. “Put on your eye mask and go back to sleep while we’re driving”, I told him. So he did. I needed the 3.5 hour drive to think anyways. He woke up in a better mood 2.5 hours later.

We arrived in downtown Toronto without a hitch, I found the parking garage no problem. We checked in early. I can get my parking validated. We went up to the room and decided on some lunch. As we went downstairs to get food, my son let me know he stayed up until 6 in the morning finishing something for his art. “Do you want to go back to sleep?” I asked. He nodded, “I have a headache.” We ate as I worked through my feelings. Starting at I miss the days when he was my baby to this is good because I have to learn to do things and explore places on my own. I’m allowed to do that now.

I walked with him back up to the room and he showed me the music video he stayed up until 6 in the morning creating. It’s incredible. I told him how proud I was of him, but ultimately where my frustration is coming from is that one day I won’t be around to make sure he wakes up on time for a commitment. I love how much he loves his art, but he has to find it in him to fulfill other responsibilities as well. It’s life, unfortunately. I know it sounds silly to call a trip a responsibility, but if he can’t motivate himself for that then how will he motivate himself for life?

I left the room so he could rest and received a notification of expected rain in the area. I didn’t mind, I needed to walk. I wanted to clear my head, or at least fill it with music with my headphones on as I walk down Younge street. I made it down the street, walking for 5 minutes at best, and it started pouring. I looked up and smiled. It felt like a scene out of a movie. I wasn’t sad, I didn’t feel lonely or cold. I felt oddly complete with nowhere to be walking down this unfamilar city street in the rain. I waited for a few minutes under an awning, patiently hoping the rain would slow. I eventually turned back in the direction of the hotel. With no where to be, I turned into a coffee shop, and sat down to open my phone and write. Is this what my new life will look like?

I’ve known for a while that I’ve outgrown my hometown, but when I think of where I want to go once my son is out of the house, I just don’t know. Will I wander? Will I travel? Will I take long weekends with myself to explore streets I’ve never seen before? It’s taken me 36 years to not feel overwhelming anxiety from being alone in public, just being myself. By myself. Now, as it gets closer to becoming my reality I’m starting to think I can actually do this. Or maybe it’s just today. Maybe it’s just the rain. Maybe it’s just the mood I’m in that’s making me feel this way. Or maybe just maybe I’m building my new reality one moment at a time.