August 19? 2008, right? Wow, it has been a year, a whole year since it first struck me that I no longer had any body to look out for to care for - to be a mother to.
My baby kid moved out in June of 2007, got his own apartment and went on his merry way, all grown up and moving out into the world to become his own man. It didn't sink in right away as he made frequent trips back to pick up more of his things. Throughout June and most of July his ritual was to come by one or two evenings after work and he'd always come on the weekend. By the end of the second week in August he had moved all of his things.
He didn't come by that weekend, he needed to unpack and organize the apartment. He didn't come by the following week either. That was okay though. He was busy and I was busy, sorting rearranging and filling-in the gaps where his belongings used to be.
Somewhere around the third week of August on a bright sunny humid Wednesday morning I brought a load of towels from the laundry room to my bedroom. As I passed his bedroom, it struck me like a ton of bricks - unh . . .
my baby is gone. He's not coming back.
Flaming hot tears streamed down my face quicker than water through a busted pipe. I stood there in the middle of my bedroom, alone, gasping for the kind of breath you need to stop yourself from being overtaken by grief. As I choked back tears and gasped harder and harder for air one simple thought jabbed sharply in my head, "My baby is gone. I don't have any body to take care of now. I don't have any one to look after. What am I going to do now?"
"What in the world do I do now?"