Skies over the Atlantic

Somewhere, over the Atlantic, they are now, many miles from one country, heading for another. Is he sleeping? Tuned into his Ipod? Watching a movie? Asleep next to his father, who must be really tired from his long day?

I didn't know how badly I was going to miss Mr. C -- had urged my ex to take him, hand't known that it would feel like this.

The DQ and I drove them to Exton station. This morning Mr. C graduated from fifth grade, dressed in his Scout uniform in a sea of white shirts. Favorite teacher Mr. Wood, giving out awards to the chess team, complimented Mr. C on a quality I value above almost all others -- his compassion.

Watching those young faces in the video made for to commemorate the fifth grade (second to graduate from the school), with their joyful smiles and unmarked faces, I was too embarrassed to ask my ex for a handkerchief again. Then brunch at a local diner, back to his dad's to pack, and the afternoon was almost gone.

Yet one more emotion to overlay what was already there, so full already -- I asked my ex to give my love to his friend Ian. A big part of the reason for going was for him to see Ian, whose wife had died last winter. "I hope he lasts till I get there" blurted out my ex. "He's very bad."

My ex isn't prone to being overly emotional, but he seemed to be struggling to stay in control of his feelings. Ian and Jeanette his wife had housed us and the children whilst in London 11 years ago. Scholarly and humble, they were delightful hosts, making us feel totally at home.

Please, God, I know it's selfish, but let him get there in time to say goodbye, to share a few memories, to let him know how much those days in Cambridge together meant. I had so many grand wishes for Mr C and my ex -- trips to the zoo, to the Science Museum, to that London Eye he keeps chatting about.

Now I just want them safe.

When I expressed my emotions to the DQ tonight, she came and hugged me. "I bet your mom felt the same way about you," said my poised and increasingly canny daughter. "You'll feel the same way when you have kids" I said. She smiled, and went back to the laptop.