|Woman with Umbrella (M.A. Reilly 2012)|
I have been deep cleaning. Setting to rights this house. The laundry is nearly done. The closets organized. Windows still need to be cleaned. Dust eradicated (for this moment). Furniture polished. I have bundled up and delivered bags of clothing and I want you to know that there's a certain satisfaction in cleaning. And yet, in sweeping so much away, what remains is more noticeable: a hole too deep and raw right now to fill.
My son talked with me last week about resettling in Europe, about investigating taking a gap year, trying his hand at professional e-games (he's ranked professional at this point), and delaying college. As I listened I was well aware that my sense of loss heightened, my unease grew. How wonderful it would be to discuss all of this with Rob. He and I anticipated Devon's leaving and there was solace in knowing that my husband would ache as much as me when our son moved on as he will do. Nonetheless, we would have had one another as we made that transition. We had hoped to semi-retire. Travel. Be.
What do you think your dad would say? I ask Devon.
He'd listen. I think he'd understand wanting to live in Europe, but I don't think he would move. He was American.
With Rob's death, the responsibility to shepard this lovely, young man rests on my shoulders. I want our son to be adventuresome and risk and yet after the last 20 months, I find myself more tentative, less brave in some fundamental ways.
Life, I want to remind myself, is best lived fully, brilliantly. I have been resettling this week and have room to hold that in mind.