The day after New Year’s my daughter packed up her SUV, kissed me, bid me adieu, and drove back to her college campus. I had texted a friend as a safety net in hopes of warding off the emptiness I inevitably feel after Anjelica’s departure, especially when the joy of Christmas and the champagne of New Year’s begin to ebb away.
My friend inquired if we could go to Super Target. She needed to buy a small coffee pot with a timer for her classroom breaks. “Fine,” I said. Anything was welcome to circumvent the first afternoon and evening devoid of my daughter’s lively company. One would think after four years, I would cope better, would have my own diversions in place. Well, I do. My life is full of writing, a full-time job, family and friends. But here’s the rub: I love my daughter’s company. She is a great raconteur, a beautiful, sweet, witty, compassionate young person brimming with life, ambition, hopes and dreams. Why would I not miss her?
Later that same day, my friend and I dined at a favorite restaurant that offers healthy, fresh fare, particularly welcome after the over-indulgence of Christmas and New Year’s. We drove to my house, the house still cozy with Christmas decorations and white lights. I whipped up lattes and poured the coffee from the shiny red French Press Anjelica had given me for Christmas. As I settled into a chair next to the Christmas tree, I glanced at the book on writing subjects she also gifted to me. The dark periwinkle-purple scarf she placed around my neck still graced my ensemble. I sipped the pecan praline latte and smiled at the thought that we would be together again soon enough. Happiness.
Ciao for now.