When my son stayed behind in Mexico, a piece of my soul stayed with him. For about a week, I felt as if I couldn't breathe or function. I truly felt like a sleepwalker in this world. Now that almost a month has gone by since I left for Mexico, I feel in my soul a dull ache, constantly. It follows me throughout my day- when I get up in the morning and get ready for work, I notice his absence from my bed. When I fold my laundry- I noticed the missing clothes. When I cook something to eat, I noticed that he is not here to beg for popcorn and hotdogs. When I drive down the road, he is not in the back seat to point out the cars, trucks, horses, buses, or airplanes. When I notice his absence, I'm struck with a sharp, immediate pang of loneliness that nearly knocks me off of my feet. But then I recollect myself: he is with his father. He is having a ton of fun. He is growing and learning and is enjoying time with his dad. He is safe. He is cared for and loved. But the separation is still hard, and there are reminders for all of us, all around this house. There are things that didn't go to Mexico. There are pieces of clothes- I will be picking up a blanket or something and I will find one of his shirts and I cry for about 30 minutes because I simply want my baby to be with his mom and not be so far away.
These are little reminders of how quickly life has changed for all of us here in Portland. These are things that were left behind- they are things that I see when I'm going about my day that cause me inexplicable pain, rage, and sadness. These are the things that make it impossible to get on with life in a way that resembles anything before. I'm sleepwalking through life with Cecilia until June. I miss my baby.