We’re back in Oz safely. ‘15’ was SO ready to leave Europe, and had become obsessed with Instagram surfing videos, dreaming of his first dive into our warm, welcoming ocean. I had to practice patient acceptance of his daily mantra ‘I just want to go home and be with my friends…’
So now we’re back. We landed early in Brisbane, and high-fived each other. I hadn’t seen such a big grin on his face for a while, and it was delightful to see him hugging his Dad (he and I broke up when ’15’ was about 3; I wouldn’t define us as ‘good friends’, but it’s been a long, rocky road, and this is probably the best it’s going to get, which is fine). They dropped me at my place on the way home (we live 20 mins apart), and ‘15’ ran in quickly to say hello to our beloved cat, plus comment that ‘the house smells different’, then got back into the car saying ‘I’ll probably see you in January some time Mum…’
I smiled at his cheekiness, but it did hurt. God knows we both need a break from each other’s company, and it’s been an intense couple of months, but still: a parent is usually much more attached to spending time with the young adult offspring than the other way round. And I am no exception.
I tried not to cry as they drove away. I tried not to think about all those long, peaceful days at the Barn in France, ending each evening with badminton. I tried not to dwell on his long-awaited immersion in his other home, with loving step-mum and two younger brothers, plus 2 dogs, and numerous ducks and chickens. I tried not to imagine him complaining about how long we were away, and how bored he was sometimes, and how annoying I could be. I lugged my damn heavy suitcase up stairs for one last time, and focused on simply stroking my writhing, ecstatic cat.
The next two days passed in a thin fog of relief, tiredness, melancholy and nostalgia. Yes, of course it’s great to be home. To be safe, to be welcomed, to be familiar. Great to have my car, my home, my whole life back. My three favourite things, in no particular order:
I truly live in one of the most beautiful parts of Australia- the land of milk and honey. A tropical paradise, where food is organic, the natives are friendly and liberated, and Nature remains ever-present and fairly unpolluted.
But this waking up at 3.30/4.30/5.30am, STARVING HUNGRY and restless is crap. I feel like half of me is missing, as my poor spirit struggles to catch up, doggy paddling all the way over from England…
Luckily I can weigh myself down with one of the breakfasts I missed the most while away: free range fried eggs, avocado, macadamia nut butter and chickpea miso on gluten free pumpkin and amaranth toast, all organic, all grown with our particular shade of all-encompassing, all-embracing, all-welcoming Rainbow Love