My oldest daughter lives on one continent, and my youngest lives with me on another.
My heart is stretched wide as the ocean, and fills with it. It’s a heaviness, a drowning I carry around with me as I go about trying to stay busy and find purpose and meaning.
My oldest moved to Boston in mid-December for her 2nd semester. It’s just been 6 weeks, but man, it’s tough. When she was in Greece last semester we visited each other like crazy. Now it’s not possible.
Here’s her teddy Sarah Bear. I’m so happy she brought her to Greece last semester, and now Boston. I made Sarah Bear the little quilt to match my daughter’s (below). I used to always make Sarah tiny pancakes and cookies and muffins, too. She is truly a beloved bear, a Velveteen Rabbit bear. I used to collect the little beads that would fall out of her threadbare paws and put them in a tiny bowl in my daughter’s room. I’ve stitched this little bear so many times.
This week my daughter was in the emergency room in Boston with severe flu and had to be semi-quarantined – she was in a wheelchair and everything. She and I snap-chatted from her hospital bed; she sent pictures of her face mask, her bruised arm with the IV, all the little tubes and bruises that occupy mothers’ nightmares. I hated that I couldn’t be there, couldn’t bring her Sarah Bear, couldn’t get her a drink, couldn’t do anything.
I was out of my mind with worry, cursing the ocean, envying moms who bewail the fact that their daughters go to college three whole hours away, or a state away, or even across the country. I would give anything to be just across a country from my baby.