Wednesday was tough.
After almost a year of having the grandkids and their parents living with us, the book closed on that chapter of our lives when we put them all on a plane where they will spend the next three months traveling and working in Europe. After that, they plan to move back to California.
As the day of their departure grew closer, I wanted more and more to drink in each moment we had left with them. I would watch the kids play, watch them eat, even watch them watch TV. Finally, 2-year-old Crosby had had enough. He pointed a chubby finger at me and said, “Nana, stop it!” “Stop what?” I asked. “Stop seeing me!”
So I did…but not until the sight of them faded past the security line at the airport.
Watching them go was like ripping a band-aid off extremely tender skin. The initial hurt was the worst but there’s still a lingering ache that I’m sure will last for a while.
There was a song very popular during World War II called “I’ll Be Seeing You”. It was one of the songs in the musical revue I was in at Six Flags Over Georgia in the summer of ’74. (It was backstage at this show that I first met Dennis.) I loved this song then and it’s come flooding back to my mind this week for some reason. Anyway, the lyrics go:
I’ll be seeing you;
In all the old, familiar places;
That this heart of mine embraces;
All day through
In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children’s carousel;
The chestnut tree;
The wishing well.
I’ll be seeing you;
In every lovely, summers day;
And everything that’s bright and gay;
I’ll always think of you that way;
I’ll find you in the morning sun;
And when the night is new;
I’ll be looking at the moon;
But I’ll be seeing you.
I can resonate with the feeling. Yeah, I can still see “my babies” in the handprints on glass doors. (I can’t seem to find time to erase those.) I can see them in the smudges on the walls where we tried to undo crayon scribbles. (Somehow I can’t get around to painting over them.) I can see them in the sticky spots on the kitchen floor where apple juice was spilt. (I figure those can wait.)