3 a.m. in Florida

Sleep recedes to another corner of the room. E's snuffles and snores and coughs under its influence.  I try to breathe with his rhythm. I want a taste of nature's narcotic.

The air conditioner hums, the ceiling fan stirs the air, and in the darkness I know the second hand on the clock is sweeping bits of my life away.

I think about the house we're buying and my stomach churns a bit. Concerns about the foundation. Anxiety over not being present at closing--who can we trust to do the walk through? Who will represent us and explain the paperwork? We've sold houses from a distance but we've never bought one that way.

E's dad died of  ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) in 2001. For reasons I can't explain, I've felt his absence on this trip more acutely than before. E's sister and her husband have four boys, aged 5 to 14 years. They're very active in athletics, and my father-in-law was a sports nut. He would have loved sitting in the bleachers at ballgames and swim meets cheering them on. And I wish he was here for E's mom as she navigates Parkinson's and other illnesses.  She is getting excellent care, but he could give her the type of support none of us can provide.

My mind drifts to milestones that slipped unexpectedly into my summer. Buying a bra for a certain little girl, waking up one morning to notice my son's voice had changed overnight. Realizing that while we slept, he'd crossed some bridge between childhood and adolescence and that the boy I'd kissed the night before was gone forever.

I pull the sheets up to my chin and think of Belgium and Petey (my cat) and the boxes and boxes of items I'll have to go through in order to  downsize enough to make our new home in Virginia comfortable and not cluttered. I mentally start sorting through my kitchen stuff, Christmas decorations. and ponder the fate of beloved toys and books, outgrown but not forgotten.

I think of Di and Peter and the friends I'll leave behind when I move back to America in 2008.  I close my eyes and chase sad thoughts away. I envision future visits to Belgium and trips to Europe. I refuse to accept that once I move back to America, my life will fossilize.

I consider what direction I want to take professionally when I return, how to nurture my creativity, feed my bank account, and use all my skills to best advantage.

A cricket chirps outside the window. The house creaks. My bones groan. I turn my back on questions and wait for morning to lighten my mood.

July 27, 2007

Comments

[Nance]

Oh, for an "off" button at night!

I could recite all sorts of encouraging platitudes at this point, but you're smart enough to know them all. Breathe.

[Mary-LUE]

That is an awful lot to think about. I'd be up at 3 a.m., too, if I had that much on my mind.

Hang in there!

[Di]

A million reasons not to sleep really, at least you're not boring and have the racing mind thing to entertain ...

Of course you'll come back ... Sahara ran in circles shouting and leaping about because she thought Emily was coming back.

Slaap lekker vanavond.
I think that's the right Dutch ...

[RD]

And everything miraculously looks better once the sun comes up. Why is it that the night time feeds these unreasonable fears that lie in the depths of our minds? Lots going on for you and your family, but you know you'll get through it just fine.

[impyh]

I'm so glad I'm not the only one who has such nights. It's comforting. I think you appreciate your life far more, because you are aware of these things. The passage of time, the changes in our children. It makes you cherish the now, because you see it going by. So spend a night or two pondering all this. Not seeing it happen is far, far worse. Hugs on your trip, because you're doing brilliantly!

[Peter]

From "The sunscreen song":

"Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday."


Thanks for thinking about me, at 3am, far away from Belgium.

[mamatulip]

Like the first commenter said -- there are so many nights I wish I could just turn my brain off and get some SLEEP. I'm a worrier by nature; I've found myself wide awake in almost a panic at 3am many a time.

Hope you managed to squeeze in a few winks.

[Tera]

WELTERUSTEN! I always like how the Dutch say Good Night...rest well...I hope you do tonight dear V.

[Di]

I checked with my Belgian boy, I guessed well enough. 'Slaap lekker' is what we say to the kids every night and vanavond is tonight ... he's hopeful about me learning the language but not breathholding and sighing every time another friend from Antwerp talks in fluent English to me hehehehe. I can't help it if people want to practice their Engels on me.

[Ortizzle]

Do you ever have days when you wake up and wonder what country you are in? Or right now, perhaps what state (of the nation!) you are in? That used to happen to me from time to time. In any case, I think you have already answered a lot of your questions. :-)

[V-Grrrl]

Ortizzle,

I definitely feel disoriented after four weeks of sleeping in different beds and places...The expat dilemma--enjoying where you are, missing where you've been.

[wendy]

sigh....very honest..and sleep eluding post.

Watch out for that foundation..very pricey to fix.

The rest will fix itself, I am afraid. It's inevitable.

[TB]

Wow V, that's a LOT of big stuff to consider. Why does it seem like vacations aren't really vacations anymore the older we get?