Separation Anxiety

6 Apr

I hate the thought of my parents getting older. I am very fortunate for the Everybody Loves Raymond situation we have. They are around the corner. My brother is also not far away. My kids are the greatest beneficiaries, having an extended family in their backyard, which is a gift I didn’t grow up with.

Both sets of grandparents moved to Florida when I was young enough to not remember them living anywhere but Florida. My mother’s parents at one time had an apartment in my hometown but I don’t recall anything about it except for the moment they packed it up. I was 8 years old and doing an excellent job of crying myself to sleep. My mother must have heard me because she opened the door, turned on the light, and said “get out of bed. Let’s go see your grandparents.”

This was a big deal. It was after my bedtime. Nothing ever happened after my bedtime. She took me in my nightgown to their apartment which was filled with boxes containing their life. I sat in a chair, weeping, inconsolable. My grandma, in an effort to stop the tears, handed me a royal blue glass soap dish. I can’t imagine an 8 year old appreciating a soap dish, or maybe even soap, but to me, it was beautiful. And for some reason, it meant everything.

The other day, my mom casually dropped a bomb on me. She mentioned tax implications. She mentioned inheritance money. She mentioned financial loss. She mentioned that she would be MOVING TO FLORIDA. This was in between where would we eat dinner that night and something similarly insignificant.

I probably stopped the car. I probably would have liked to have told her to get out of it too. Instead, I used my words:

“What?! What do you mean you’re moving to Florida? What are you talking about?”

“There’s money you and your brother would have to pay in taxes if we don’t.”

I don’t know how much money that amounts to. I don’t care either. There is no price you can put on having the best people in the world–the people that gave you life, loved you, raised you, held your hand, laughed with you, cried with you, kissed your tears away, told you you were right, told you you were wrong, listened — truly listened, and then cycle back and do it all over again for your children–just a short bike ride away. No price.

“Mom, I would pay all that money just to have you near me. Just to have you and Dad in my life. Just to have you here with me.”

“Ok, it’s settled. I’m not moving to Florida. Where are we going for dinner?”

Anywhere you want mom, as long as it’s with you.

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