Wednesday, 11 December 2013

Living Alone

My son is moving back to BC. Soon I will be living alone once again. He has been with me for the better part of a year, learning about who his father really is, learning about what ALS really is. It would have been nice if he could have made a life here in Calgary. It didn't happen; he is a West Coast boy through and through. He spent much of his time missing his friends and career opportunities in Vancouver, missing the ocean, missing his life there.

I don't mind living alone, at least not for now. His departure means I don't have to cook for two. It means less to tidy, less vacuuming, less garbage to take out, less recycling to look after. It means I don't have to hear shouting from his room as he plays online games at 2:00 AM. We won't argue about using the truck or him paying his share of the rent. I won't have to ask, and ask, and ask again for things to be done. My costs will go down.

Yet I will miss him. When there was a hockey game on TV he would emerge from his personal dungeon, his never to be cleaned bedroom. He would, if the time and timing suited him, do some of the chores around the apartment. He even did the vacuuming last week. He will, when prompted, empty and fill the dishwasher and will, on occasion, do it without prompting. He helps me unload groceries and puts them away in the pantry when asked. He does the heavy lifting without which wine making would be impossible.

I will miss him for more than what he does. He is my son. We don't get along that well but he is the only family I have here in Calgary. While friends are certainly helpful, and my friends more than most, my son was here, all the time. He has been my travelling companion, my wing man, and he has reminded me more than once that today is far more important than yesterday or tomorrow. While he may be young and foolish, he never lacked a point of view.

As I sit here today, thinking about the quiet, watching the cold, grey sky slide past in blanket of grey puckled with spots of white and even blue breakthrough now and again; as I sit here looking at my tree with its lumps of snow laying heavily on the bending branches; as I sit here thinking about living alone; I must confess that it would be nice if someone were here. I will miss him.

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