Taken seconds before he left, the Super Shuttle guy standing right in front of us, waiting to take John's bag and hurl it into the back of the van.
All week I worried over whether or not he was having a fun time. I worried about whether or not he was too hot while he slept, if I was feeding him enough and if he liked my cooking. I worried over whether or not I listened well while he spoke. I worried if he was disappointed by how much I was working and leaving him on his own. Then I worried that he had more fun on his own than he did with me.
And I'm only saying all of this because I am starting to believe that it is perfectly normal to worry and that most people just don't talk about it as openly as I do. Or else they won't admit how much they worry. Right now I'm worried that you're judging me for being such a worrier.
My point is that when he hugged me goodbye, I knew right then that the week had meant as much to him as it did to me. He might have had a lot of aloof teenager moments while he was here, but when he hugged me goodbye, for a split second, he was two again. And he didn't want to let go.
Neither did I, baby. I love you forever. (That's a long time.)
8/17/09
8/17/09
3 comments:
I'm worried that you're worried about my worrying about your worry...
What a cool kid! He seems like a lot of fun, and I'm sure he enjoyed running around NYC with you! What teenager wouldn't?!
Your worrying sounds like my worrying. I worry that I sit weird in the passenger seat of a car next to someone, or worry that I walk weird on the street, and then I worry that I look like I'm worrying about it. And often I worry that I worry too much because everyone else is just worrying about themselves too. Maybe you and I are just super paranoid and self conscious all of the time. I know I am, at least.
Jesus, Tricia, way to make me get all teared up. I'm glad you had such a wonderful visit.
And duh, we all worry.
Post a Comment