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| Our son and his friend last year in November when we visited his home town for the weekend. |
But I'm sitting inside. My nose is drippy and my breathing ragged. Periodically an asthmatic cough forces its way out.
To make it worse, I've been crying.
Not because I'm sick, but because I keep remembering...
Remembering that friend who whispered, in the midst of a hilarious board game last month in Australia, "You can't go—you realise that!"
I'm remembering the friends who couldn't say goodbye at the shopping centre and I had to say to them (after I'd hugged them), "I love you and will miss you. But now I'm just going to turn and walk away . . . "
I'm remembering the friends in Japan who lovingly plied me with questions last week about our son's transition. One who said she's been reading my posts and crying as we made this transition.
On Sunday we spent an hour on a video call with our son. The first time we've done that since I returned to Japan. It was great, but left me sad, missing him more than before.
Then last night one of his good friends who is studying at a uni in Tokyo stayed overnight with us. That was both strange and wonderful. But when I realised that he and our son hadn't connected since our son had moved, I sought to get our son on another video chat. It was a wonderful time of reminiscing for them. I learnt new things about our son. But it also made me sad, because, time has moved on and the group that they had in high school has been scattered across the globe. Yes, I know that is the way of life. But it was a reminder that this is still a time of transition for them. Our guys are yet to connect with others in their new environments in a deeper way.
So I guess, in trying to sit quietly and not work too much this morning, I just got overwhelmed with the brokenness. All the goodbyes that we've had recently. Things that won't be fixed. Can't be fixed. Because of distance.
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