A Substantial Loss

Emotions are in some ways an Achilles heel to our sense of our sobriety and of being in charge.
It was not long ago when I wrote of my trip to Gatwick airport and the suspense I had in not only getting into the airport but the special thrill of meeting Andrew once again after all these years away in Australia. The smile on my face as I saw him confidently walk through the doors into the 'Arrival Lounge', his own face wreathed in a smile of its own anticipation at meeting at least one of the "oldies".

 Now the anticipation is changed, replaced with a sad tint of farewell as we make the preparations for his departure for "down under". The bags packed, the weighing of the bags, and the unpacking to see what can be left behind to get the weight down. Eventually it's near enough so there's one last chance for a walk across the fields of his childhood, or rather the emergence from childhood as one learns for the first time of the scrapes with the local Bobby for smoking cannabis. This was a world we as parents were blissfully unaware. It was a world relatively unscathed with much danger since the affiliation to gangs and the trouble young people get into was diluted by the fields and open spaces and with these open spaces came the relinquished containment 'grown ups', particularly parents brought with them, their baggage was not yours. You had of course baggage to collect of your own, things your parents could not share. How could they understand your obsession with "rap music" or the attraction of "scratching" (the vinyl record scratching as opposed to the skin) to add yet another dimension to the noise we, Mum and Dad, had thrust upon us as we watched the metamorphosis of our sweet boy into a teenager.

Walking on this last walk, with the distance of many many years he was at ease to tell of some of the scrapes he got up to but I think  it was the carefully scripted version as we walked trough the fields of rape seed and corn each field heavily pregnant with its crop.
I got up early today to arrange the Dartford Crossing Toll payment, make a cup of tea and see the sun rise on what could turn out (weather wise) a beautiful day.
We have had poor weather from the time of his arrival, not that it mattered much since it was the reunion which mattered most and that went very well with only the occasional histrionics from Angela as she defines a new course for her life.  Having spent the last few years securing it financially, she is now engaged with finding "purpose" for the years ahead in getting closer to the essence of things, disentangling herself from some of the day to day responsibilities she has shouldered up until now.
In amongst those is "work" or at least the regular 9 till 5 treadmill as she seeks a more sublime regime of one day a week in Optometry whilst spending the rest "down on the farm" volunteering and helping retarded folk gain some meaning in their lives.
Andrew with his Buddhism, Angela with her "good causes".  Although I can't claim any credit, at least the kids are not in any conformity rut and although marking my own scorecard with rather long periods of nonconformity, I seem to be the essence of the mould these days. Perhaps my refusal to accept retirement is just another one of the bloody minded things which make the backdrop for 'their' kicking over the "normal".
Anyway the sun is shining and soon we will be driving the wrong way to Gatwick, heading for Departures this time and a final hug as he sets off through the door where the aliens live whilst we the "ordinary" people shuffle back to our cars, making the most of what is left of the day whilst reflecting on what we have just lost.