Exhausted & Jigsaw Puzzle Mecca

I am exhausted.

Utterly exhausted.

I probably should just go to bed, but instead I'll write about how tired I am.

I feel like I gave birth and after a big, eighteen year push, I am done.

I can rest.

The Boy is out the door, out of the house, out of the nest. He is out. Out of my hair. There is a Boy sized hole in my heart.

Tuesday, the Boy moved into his dorm. Wednesday, he hung out in College Town with his father and I, with no complaints and no demands. He was perfectly accommodating to everything we wanted to do.

"Do you want to stop at a bakery cafe and get coffee?" Sure.

"What to stop at this cute gift shop and poke around?" Sure.

"Lunch?" Sure.

"Hike?" Sure.

"Do you need anything?" Not really.

Wow. It was a lovely day, and also surreal. Normally, the Boy doesn't like us that much. But now that we were in College Town, to the Boy we were familiar. And familiar is safe.

Today was different. The Boy texted and said he was fine. He didn't need anything. I burst into tears.

Tears of sadness, relief, and joy. Salt water can have so many shapes, colors, meanings. It can be clear, or it can match the color of the sky. It can be a tear or it can be the ocean.

Of course, I worry. The opposite of worry is faith. I can hope and wish for faith. Wishing for faith is a substitute for real faith, but it is a starting point. 

The best I can do while the Boy is away, is to take care of myself. After I cried, Jack drove to Jigsaw Puzzle Mecca, a side trip on the way to the airport from College Town to Seattle. I had fifteen minutes in the store. I picked out two puzzles, both of which were cheaper than the condo I bought when Claire-Adele left for college. 

Birds for Ada, fish for the Boy. After Ada died, I became very fond a Robert Frost poem about his daughter's death. Her voice melded into the song of the birds. "The song of the birds will never be the same. And to do that to birds is why she came."

The Boy hasn't died, and yet I grieve. I will miss him, and I am glad he gone. I am happy for him, though he isn't happy yet for himself. He will be, though, I hope. He will be.