Woodchuck Martinis

  Chapter 23

  Becoming the Crazy Cat Lady

  I cannot believe what an emotional buffoon I’ve become when thinking about Jessie going to college next year. This would be so different than when my son, Josh, moved out as he moved just a few minutes from home.

  So many of the common things we’ve been doing during Jessie’s senior year in high school have brought me to tears. So much for the tough facade I’ve been able to maintain up until now. For instance at Halloween I started to cry when I was placing the gummy eyeballs in the chocolate zombie cake knowing that would be the last time I’d ever be doing that for Jessie. Picture more tears while I was scraping out a hole in the green cream cheese sculpted Frankenstein’s head to place raspberry jam brains in so that Jessie and her friends could scoop the cheesy face and raspberry goo brains out together in one delicious bite on a cracker.

  I truly don’t want to make Jessie feel guilty about leaving me home to become, as she predicts, the crazy cat lady. The time has come for her to begin the next leg of her life’s journey which will slowly take her away from me...as is the perfectly natural course of her life...and of mine. It’s the way it was meant to be. I’ve strived so hard to teach her to be independent, make her own decisions, and solve her own problems. She’s become a lovely, kind, self sufficient, and compassionate young woman and I couldn’t be more proud of her.

  We have so much in common and have such a strong bond; even our senses of humor are in sync. For my birthday this year she placed a pin on the lapel of my winter coat, unbeknownst to me, that said, “My soul was removed to make room for all of this sarcasm.” On Sunday morning I kept wondering why I was getting strange looks from the blue haired church ladies.

  I was a bit taken aback when my pastor took me to the side and quietly asked if we had something we needed to discuss as he tapped on the pin. He wanted to know if I thought it was quite appropriate to wear that kind of thing to church. I told him that it was a cry for help. Clearly he doesn’t share our love of sarcasm as he signed me up for spiritual counseling sessions every Tuesday morning at 8 o’clock. God, I’m going to miss Jessie when she leaves for college.

  She’s trying so hard to understand the things I’m going through just as I’m trying to understand the transition she’s making. I’ve talked about writing a book for years and she just instinctively knew that this would be a great time for me to start this project. For my birthday she gave me a journal along with a book entitled “How to Write the Novel of Your Dreams,” with the sage advice to get a life and quit lamenting the day she’ll leave for school. Along with that poignant advice she wrote in the first page of my journal the following.

  “This notebook is for all those times when a brilliant idea hits you and it threatens to be forgotten like running with an overflowing cup! So make sure you fill this up before your cup overflows. Love, Jessie.

  P.S. I thought I’d start you out so turn the page.

  Mom:

  You’ve never let me down, you’ve never missed a beat.

  You’re the biggest part of all my life, even with your tiny feet.

  You’ve given me confidence, humor and pride.

  You’ve left me speechless and taught me to write.

  I count on you like you count on me, a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold.

  You’ve shown me how to be vibrant and bold.

  You’re truly the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.

  And for loving me, teaching me, holding me, laughing with me, and supporting me,

  I’m ever in your debt.

  Happy birthday. I love you.

  Jessie.

  P.S. Get inspired. I know the book will rock!”

  Thus started my journey to let go of my daughter.

  We’ve started the search for the perfect college and at every tour I have to hold back my tears while we explore the campus. I’ve turned into one of those blubbering boobs that I swore I’d never become.

  One school offered a special one-hour class for parents regarding financial aid. I watched as a dozen or more parents made their way into the room. I noticed one woman in particular who looked a bit sad and I wondered if I exuded the same melancholy persona.

  “Great shoes,” I said as she walked by.

  “Thank you,” she said, and she seemed to forget her sadness for a few moments. “They were on sale at Kohl’s this week. I love a good shoe sale.”

  I made it through the first 25 minutes of the financial aid seminar before I excused myself and made my way to the ladies room to have another good cry about Jessie leaving me.

  As I sat on the toilet reading someone’s profound poetic description of their bowel movement I started bawling uncontrollably wondering if Jessie would one day be inspired on this very seat as she aspires to become a writer. I pictured her, with pen in hand, elaborating on the unfinished poem, “Here I sit all broken hearted,” and wept even harder.

  As I heard the bathroom door open I stifled my sobs and sat quietly waiting for the intruder to finish her business and leave me to continue wallowing in self pity. In looking under the stalls, however, I recognized the shoes as the ones on which I had commented in the financial aid class. I listened closely and recognized a kindred spirit in this woman two stalls down, wearing a really great pair of heels which she had found on sale at Kohl’s. She, too, was crying quietly.

  I knew at once that this woman understood my need for the solitude. I sought to escape the reality of the details that would further Jessie’s independence from me. I’d be left to my own devices wondering what I’m to do now that my most worthwhile job will be officially done the day I drop her off at college.

  The woman in the stall two doors down stopped crying and I wondered if she was waiting for me to leave her alone too. And then we both quit trying to pretend we weren’t blubbering and sobbed simultaneously.

  After a time I realized that she had quit crying and had started giggling quietly and I followed suit. Although I was still not quite ready to admit that I was not here for the official business one normally conducts in this setting, and so I flushed the toilet to make it look like I had indeed completed the transaction expected to take place. Two doors down my kindred spirit’s toilet echoed mine.

  We both opened the stall doors, dabbing our reddened eyes and moved to the sink. We both started laughing when we saw one another with our tissues in hand, trying to pretend we were not crying.

  “Getting ready to send someone off to college?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “my daughter. You too?”

  “My son,” she said. “We’ve been so close for so long.” I think she wanted to say more but tears were welling in her eyes again.

  “So have Jessie and I,” I said. “I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when she goes away.”

  The tears were running without regard to her will to hold them back now which opened the doors to my own floodgates.

  “You’ll still be there for each other; just in different ways. You’ll keep yourself busy,” she said. “You’ll have no choice. And you’ll lie to her every time she calls and tell her that you’re doing great. And after a while it won’t be a lie anymore. I know about this,” she assured me. “I’ve sent my oldest two kids off already. This time it’s my baby that will be leaving.” She hugged me then.

  We both turned to the mirrors, got fresh tissues from our purses, and dabbed our wet cheeks. We put our happy mom faces back on and returned to the tour to find our kids, breaking hearts masked again so we could encourage them to make this monumental move toward their own lives.

  I met up with Jessie a ways down the hall. She looked flush with excitement as she described the part of the tour I had missed.

  Back in the car and she turned to me suddenly.

  “What am I going to do without you here?” she asked, her eyes welling up with tears.

  “I’ll still be here for you,” I assured her, ??
?just in different ways. You’ll do great where ever you end up,” I said knowing absolutely this was true.

  “But what will you do without me at home with you?” she asked, the tears really streaming now.

  “Well, you’re the one who’s been telling me to get a life and that’s exactly what I’m planning to do. I’ve got my job and LeAnnie and Kim and Joye. I’ve got kayaking, the CERT group, and the paddle club. And you know I’ve always wanted to write a book and now’s the perfect time to start a project like that.

  Besides, I’m actually looking forward to some quiet in the house and to living in a home that stays clean! And there won’t be 30 pairs of shoes lying around every room. And no one will be there to steal my chocolates...or to eat my leftovers from Carrabba’s...or...”

  “All right, all right!” she said. “I get it. But I know you’ll miss me.”

  “Yes, I’ll miss you,” I agreed. “But my life will be good in so many other ways.”

  “Yeah, mine too,” she conceded. “By the way you have a really long piece of toilet paper stuck on your heel.”

  I reached down and removed the long piece of tissue from my shoe.

  “I wonder how long this has been there,” I mused.

  “Since we first got here and you used the bathroom in the admissions hall.”

  “So you let me walk around for two hours with this thing streaming behind me?”

  “Yup.”

  God, I’m going to miss her when she moves away.

  ****