Z and I were getting ready to go...to Ohio...for at least six months, so for the second time in a year I was leaving our MN...only this time we would be almost 900 miles away.
My innards had balled into a fist that felt like it was hanging on for dear life. A hard, clenched, hurting mass that I had no control over, could not will away or even ease the extreme discomfort. "Is this what anxiety feels like?", I asked.
We went about our preparations, running errands, dropping off payments. When all the business was taken care of we ate and Z wanted to see a movie. I thought eating might make the fist ease up, but it didn't.
MN had declined an invitation to go with us to the movie as she had made plans with friends. I really wanted to spend every waking moment left of our time with her, but I understood. We didn't make it to the movie though as I still had that unshakable, ungodly knot in my stomach.
We wound up returning home and I took the opportunity to do some chores around the house, laundry and such. As I was headed down the hall, I noticed MN's door was closed, which is rare if she is not home. Concerned that she was not feeling well or that plans with friends had gone awry, I flipped on the hall light and quietly opened her door to check. In the darkness I could make out the form of a person facing me. As my eyes adjusted, I could see MN's SO standing stock still, staring at me, not knowing what to do having just been caught by THE MOM.
I sort of just stood there myself, thinking of what I was going to say, when it occurred to me... I do not recognize this man... who was in this room... with my daughter!
I then did what any protective mother would do. I slammed the door shut, ran down the hallway, SCREAMING HYSTERICALLY for her father.
"THERE'S SOMEONE IN MN'S ROOM!"
"WHAT?!"
"THERE'S A MAN IN MN'S ROOM!!!", louder with more feeling.
Z goes down the hall, opens the door to the room, and flipped on the light, not knowing who or what he will find... only that his wife is witless about someone in his daughter's room.
Then he sees... the room is empty save for a life-sized cardboard cut out of Josh Groban, facing the door beside MN's empty bed.
He laughs with relief and then tries to comfort me... but it takes a while. I CANNOT STOP SCREAMING, and it gets worse before it gets better. Finally, the tidal wave of emotion recedes.
It's funny in the retelling, but it was not funny living it. When relating the story to my mom the next day (who's had a similar anxiety about my leaving for Ohio), I drew the conclusion that God must have been trying to tell me that even though we cannot be there to take care of MN, He is able to. It hit home for my mom as well.
One more thing I learned that night... hysterics caused by a life-sized cutout of Josh Groban in your daughter's room significantly reduces the impact of a knot in your stomach...
Priceless.
A
