Living Like a Small Green Hairy Fruit

Final Farewells - A Happy/Sad Day

Friday 25 May 2007

A happy/sad day. Because we were happy to finally be on our way, flying out to start our new lives, excited about it all, disbelief that it was us that were doing this not just a story we were reading about someone else and wishing we could do the same. And at the same time sad to be leaving all that we'd known, the familiar sights, sounds and smells, Mark's mum and dad's house which we used to refer to as the corner shop as we were always over when we'd run out of cornflour or ketchup or the like.  We'd miss seeing them on their driveway and just popping over for coffee (or brandy in dad's case), talking away the hours in either garden in the sun putting the world to rights.

Mark's mum was up bright and early and cooking bacon sarnies for all, which was very much appreciated.  I don't think she'd slept too well and like most women under stress it was a case of keep busy or dissolve into a heap and cry your eyes out.  Keeping busy and taking care of her brood was the order of the day and I really admired her spirit.  I really wanted to give her a hug as she whizzed round the kitchen, preparing, cooking and cleaning but got the vibe that if anyone did she'd sob her heart out, so I just stayed out the way a bit and hoped she'd get through this ok.

Mark had always been there for his mum and dad and likewise they for him.  My family were a bit different. All but the youngest two siblings had flown the nest relatively early and we all lead such busy lives and all spread out over the country. If the need arose we would be there for each other but our lives weren't so intertwinned.  I wondered how Mark must be feeling. I tried to remember how I felt when I left home, but it was so long ago and in such different circumstances.  I tried to imagine how I would feel if my children were to leave and I might not see them for a long time.  I really didn't know what to say to anyone or what to do without risking making a hard day worse, so I didn't do a lot really and tried to stay out of the way.  I mean we were in the house Mark grew up in, this was his time with his parents and I didn't want to encroach on these last few precious hours they had. 

I'm hoping Mark will write a bit in here to say what it was like from his perspective.

The taxi came at 10am, bang on time. A 7 seater with a luggage trailer for all our suitcases.  I remember being out on the driveway feeling really happy in a 'pinch me, is this really me doing this way' and 'yaay we're finally on our way, freedom, new life here we come' but as I turned back to the house and saw Mark's mum breaking her heart and Mark just hugging her and the children with tears rolling down their cheeks, I didn't know where to start. How do you console all these people you care so much for when you're the one causing their pain? I mean if we hadn't had this half baked idea in the first place, this wouldn't be happening right now. 

I hugged her and told her I loved her. She said 'take care of them all for me'. I remember thinking, how silly, I'm not likely to misplace one of them at the airport and have to go to lost property to claim them back! But this wasn't a time for joking.  And the sudden realisation that no matter how big or old your child gets, that strong maternal instinct just doesn't wane. To me Mark is a big, strong, capable man.  But to his mum, he's still her boy and the need to know he is safe, and warm, and feed and loved and has washed behind his ears and put clean underpants on(!) is still as strong as it was the day he was born.  I wondered if I would be as strong and dependable as she had been for Mark when the time came for me to let my children go.

I hugged Mark's dad and told him I loved him. At that point I think we were the only two not crying. He's not a big one for sentimental words but it was the best reassuring big hug and just what I needed.

In the taxi we waved goodbye till they were out of sight.  Mark sat silently in the taxi, just holding my hand with tears rolling down his face.  I didn't have any words for him. Nor any tissues come to think of it; I'd packed about 12 handy packs of Kleenex but not so handily they were all in my flight bag in the trailer.

It was a very subdued and smooth journey down to Heathrow.  We got a text message from Mark's mum. We'd given them a picture of a NZ stream/waterful in a clearing surrounded by tree ferns. There was a wooden bridge across and we'd written a message on the back of the frame saying for them to look at the picture and think of us, we were on the bridge, just out of sight but we were right there looking back at them and thinking of them to.  Mum texted to say that her and dad had gone in after we left and looked at the picture and his dad, not usually given to emotion, just wept.  I can't tell you at that point how much we wanted to stop the taxi and turn round and go back and just make everything better for them.

We arrived at Heathrow in good time.  Mark went and got 3 trolleys. We each pushed one and the kids had one between them.  Going across the zebra crossing on the busy drop off lane they managed to tip it over. Fortunately none of the cases came open!  We checked in really quickly and all bags were on or just underweight so no excess to pay.  After a few attempts I managed to speak to my mum on the phone before we had to board.  It was good to hear her voice and she sounded so excited for us.  That was like putting in the last jigsaw piece and I felt happy then that we were leaving with everything complete and in order.

Time seemed to go so quickly at the airport and we were soon off the ground on our Air New Zealand flight to the unknown.  It felt weird having 'nothing'. We no longer owned a house or a car, we didn't have an income, but we were debt free and the world was our oyster, at least for a few days anyway.