All My Bags Are NOT Packed

Peter, Paul and Mary had it all … and they must have had some help if they always had their bags packed. I am not ready and here I sit at my desk, blogging away!

This little Yankee can’t waste a couple of rotting bananas so I had to bake some gluten-free banana blueberry muffins this morning. Killed two birds with one stone because I also used up the fresh Florida blueberries from Costco! And then I decided that a batch of “Mom’s Best” Granola was in order for the boy who’s turning 21 on Wednesday. His big gift will arrive on it’s own. I feel so lucky that we’re able to travel and that I can spend a couple hours with my “baby” on his special day.

All these years later, I’ve got some serious regrets that I didn’t wait until he was out of high school before I left Cincinnati. It would have only been a year … of course at the time, my head was reeling, my heart was wounded (and I was sure it was beyond repair) and I had this wonderful man who wanted me with him … or at least in the same town. I also thought that his father would “step up” and take the parenting seriously (since he hadn’t done too much of it when I was there). Not so much. What nobody realized – not me, not his/our therapist – was how much he was drinking and what a mess he really was. He could barely care for himself after my departure and he certainly didn’t do a great job of taking care of my son. I would never have left if I’d realized how poorly cared for my son would be – and that he was going to have to depend on friends on a regular basis. Neither did I realize how hurt he’d be when I left. I knew him as an independent kid who was seldom home. I was alone all the time in that big old house. Housing choices were not plentiful and it was expensive. But, today, looking back with my 20/20 hindsight vision, it would have been a good choice to stay for my son’s sake.

Over the course of the past four years, he’s graduated from high school, successfully completed (nearly) three years of an extremely competitive and demanding college curriculum and learned to brew beer in his apartment, cook like a professional chef, and dress to the nines. I’m really proud of the young man that he’s becoming and I hope he’s proud of himself.

I’m trying to do whatever it takes to rebuild a relationship with my boy. I love him more than life itself and I wish I could go back and un-do what I did. Sadly, it’s done and now I can only try to show him how much he means to me … even if it means spending an extra day or two in the car on an already long trip so I can have dinner with him on his 21st birthday. Happy Birthday (almost) Boy!

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