Getting Out of the Way

I am restless.

On Thursday, Darian flew to Bolivia. She is worlds away from me and if she needed me, it would take a crazy amount of effort for me to join her. Her last few days were frantic as she finished up homework and babysat and packed. As a result? I hardly heard from her until she sat at the airport, waiting to board a plane that would whisk her away from me. For ten days.

But here's the kicker. If she likes what she sees, she will once again board a plane that will whisk her away for almost a year. Away to Bolivia. Away to a land that doesn't have the luxuries we endure. Translation: no daily Internet. I will have to adjust to weekly (if I'm lucky) emails. No more long skyping sessions. No more surprise weekends where she pops in unexpected.

And really. When it comes to whether she likes it or not, what's not to like? If one knows Darian, one knows she will love it. She will be at an orphanage with abandoned children. Darian loves children. She happily drops everything to get down on bended knee, eye to eye, and totally absorb their world--giggling and tickling and talking and soothing and playing. And so, when she sees these little faces that look up at her with lonely eyes, her heart will be captured and that will be that.

The world needs Darian--my sweet, tender daughter who only sees the good in others.

I need her too.

I want her to live with me forever.

And then let's talk about Savana. She, too, boarded a plane yesterday--bound for Southern California. She is vacationing for a little over 7 days. But I know in the deepest part of me that I won't hear from her. She is off to bigger and better things. And this vacation is just a foretaste of what is to come.She is planning and dreaming and living for that moment when she moves out of my house and into a new one that is her very own. And really, that's not so far away.

Please don't go.

The dreams of my girls leave me empty, restless. They leave me crying inside, begging them to stay with me forever.

But of course...

I well remember when I got married and Roy whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma where it was just my mom and me to a whole new world in Colorado. I was in love with my man, in love with my future, in love with life. But when I called Mom? I could hear the sadness in her voice as she dealt with the reality that her baby had moved away.

Empty nest syndrome.

And now it's my turn. I will have to adjust to this new reality that doesn't necessarily include hearing about every moment of my girls' days. I will have to become accustomed to silence other than the chatter of my own thoughts.  I can't quite wrap my thoughts around it.

And really--I still have time. They haven't left yet. But I know it's coming. I know that I need to start preparing so that I'm not left flat on my back as though the wind has been knocked out of me.

When I first started working at my job, I didn't have a cubicle. And so, I settled into a corner desk that is built into the room and when someone enters the second floor, they are able to see me as soon as they step out of the elevator. It isn't such a bad thing, really, as I have become acquainted with many social workers and know several by name. Sometimes we chat about our days and such. I've made friends by dwelling in a corner desk. But I've longed for a cubicle. I've longed for my own space where I can have a bit of privacy, a place to hang photos of my family, a space to call home. A few months ago, they freed up a cubicle and I was told that it would be mine. Excited, I spent far too much time staring at that cubicle longingly, envisioning how I would decorate it, imagining myself there. 

And then one day? A name was hung on the wall of the cubicle and that name wasn't mine. A man moved in and stole my dream. Deflated, I gave up and reconciled myself to the reality that the corner desk was mine forever.

And then this past week a lady came up whom I don't know and asked, "I'm so sorry to ask this question, but what is your name?"

"Vonda Seals??" I replied, hesitantly.

"Okay--I just need to make sure that you are who I thought you were. You're getting a cubicle on this row right here," she said, pointing to the row adjacent to where I was sitting. And then, she left, just that fast.

I'm actually getting a cubicle? I thought. But Buncombe County is home to many many employees. Nothing happens fast at Buncombe County. And so, I figured maybe by summer.

But then on Thursday, I got an email: I am officially moving to a cubicle on Tuesday morning at 10:00. It will be a bit of a fiasco as I am one of probably hundreds of employees shifting around the Department. But that's okay. My supervisor made it official when she brought me a box so that I can pack up my stuff. Sadly, most of my stuff is in the snacks department: granola and pretzels and crackers.

But I am back to dreaming. I am back to looking at Pinterest for ideas to how to organize my cubicle tastefully.

But here's the thing: I'm not much of a decorator. My cubicle? It will probably just be functional, utilitarian.

But a girl can always dream.

And that's exactly what my girls are doing. They're dreaming. They're chasing.

And who am I to get in their way.