Don't Panic, pt. 2

One of my favorite memories of your first visit here, little sweetheart, is how when we woke up late the day you had to fly back - because my alarm didn’t go off - that you didn’t panic, but calmly gathered your things in record time while I agitatedly called quickly for car service (instead of our plan to take the Air Train). You were smiling and calm when I was afraid you would be so mad and blaming me. I have a lot of broken places inside, my little sweetheart. Even more now than you can imagine because I long for you so. I had so many broken places then because people weren’t always very nice to me, little sweetheart. And I think I was often tensing up expecting to be berated or belittled or told that I was wrong. But you were fine, so fine that morning, my darling. You didn’t let something unexpected ruin the end of our first glorious full week together alone here in New York. And soon the driver called up, we went downstairs, climbed in back and cuddled all the way to JFK, where, as would always be the case, I cried my eyes out at your leaving, even though I knew I’d be seeing you in three weeks time (in London!).

There were plenty of times when either of us could meltdown, could get upset over something less than earth shaking. There were plenty of times when you might throw yourself dramatically face first onto a bed full of pillows crying in frustration. And I would always do my best to talk us through it, find a solution, comfort you, fix it. That face first pillow plant full body flop was such a signature move of yours, I can recall its practition over numerous beds in numerous different cities across separate timezones.

The last one I remember was when you opened your MacBook Air and the lid literally came off in your hand. As I tried to sooth you immediately post pillow plant, you cried out “I can’t have sex for three hours right now! That won’t help!” I still remember us laughing later about that now. At the time and after some time and calm talking, I got us on the phone with the Apple Store and we got an appointment and drove down there where they looked it over, told you they could fix it overnight and that we wouldn’t have to pay. You kept asking, like several times, how much it was going to cost. Finally the Apple guy turned to me, smiling, pleasantly. “Will you please tell her to take yes for an answer?” he said. It’s free, I told you, little sweetheart. You’re still under your three-year Apple Care Plan. “Oh, it’s free?” Yes, sweetheart. “Who paid for that?”. I don’t know, sweetheart, maybe your dad when he gave it to you? But it’s free. Problem finally solved, we walked around the rest of the shopping center. You saw some socks - of all things! - that you thought were cute, so I quickly bought them for you before you could say no. Then, we looked for a nice place to have dinner.

We both could be emotional. Ha! That is certainly the understatement of the nascent century. I myself am entirely prone to hysterics. I can feel you nodding emphatically in agreement from here, little sweetheart.  You and I could unquestionably get derailed by something entirely marginal and not be able to unwind ourselves for some time or without the diligent, calming help of one another, but you taught me so much. You still do. And, unlike anyone I have ever known, whenever things did get really bad, whenever it really counted, you could always be counted on. You never let me down when I really needed you or even when I desperately needed but didn’t even know or could articulate or even ask for what was required. Every time there was real adversity you were there instantly, expertly, selflessly, totally and without judgement. With love and care and support and unbending, unending presence. You never fail me. God, how I love you, my little sweetheart. And I always will.