*Jacob and I at the Houston Temple
It’s 2am. I’ve been lying in bed unable to sleep. I feel like a huge weight is sitting on my chest. It took me a while to realize what the problem was.
One week from this morning Jake and I will drop Jacob off at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Seven Days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. And then I won’t see him again for two years. 730 days (+/-30). 17,520 hours. 1,051,200 minutes.
I’m quietly sobbing as Jake sleeps soundly next to me. My entire body is filled with panic. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can say goodbye. The last 12 days have been filled with blissful denial as we’ve focused on the task at hand. Getting well. But now we’re down to the final hours. He still needs 3 white short sleeve shirts. And an outlet adaptor. And I need to print some pictures for him to take.
He won’t be taking his cell phone. Or his computer. I won’t be able to text him at random. I won’t be able to talk to him whenever I need to. How have all the thousands and thousands of mothers who have done this before me managed?
I think I need to vomit.
I was so excited for him when he got his call to the Czech Republic. But now I wish he was going somewhere closer. Somewhere… more easily accessible. Not because I would be able to visit him, but wouldn’t I feel not so far away if he was physically closer?
I’m filled with regret. I wish I had hugged him more. I’m not a huggy mommy. Why didn’t I hug him more? I think I will hug him for the next 168 hours. I haven’t taken enough pictures of him. I have 73 million pictures of Miss B, but why so few of Jacob? I think I will take a thousand pictures of him in the next 168 hours. Does he know how much I love him? How proud I am of him? How even when I get frustrated and annoyed, I am still his biggest fan? Does he know how big the hole in my heart will be when he is gone?
Why did the last 18 years have to go by so quickly? How has it possibly been 18 years? How can he be a grown man ready to leave? This isn’t supposed to happen this quickly. Or at least shouldn’t I be ready for him to go? Because I’m not. I’m not ready.
Do I want him to stay?
No. I don’t want him to stay.
I don’t want that.
Because I believe with all my being that what he is doing is right.
And he is ready to go.
But I don’t know how to say goodbye.
I don’t what I will do in 168 hours, when it’s time to drop him at the doors. When he’s wearing his suit and carrying his bags. When I catch the last glimpse of him walking away. How will I do that?
Honestly, I just don’t know.