Anchor her up, Matey!

My parents left this morning at 4 am for their own flight to Hawaii. Mine doesn't leave until noon. I wandered downstairs and realized with a shock that the kitchen table was empty. Though I often roll my eyes and sigh at my doting mother, who leaves me little "have a good day!" notes inside my lunch bag... even at my ripe old age of 24, NOT having the goodbye note on the kitchen table felt jarring somehow.

This morning was all about absence of things. And how the absence itself can sometimes be a palpable presence.

I felt that presence all too keenly. I was feeling petulant that my parents hadn't left me a goodbye note. No guy has ever left me in the middle of the night, so for that, perhaps I should be thankful. But I imagine this is what it must feel like. The sudden surprise of being alone. The search for a goodbye note. And the lack of results. I thought about the weekend as I showered, and about my dad's newfound sense of mortality. A family friend, Mr. Gao, had passed away about a week ago, prompting my dad to have talks with me about him and mom's impending age. I scoffed at him. He's 54 years young! He has nothing to worry about! He told me I didn't understand. And he was right, I didn't really understand. He's my dad. He can fix anything that goes wrong in the world. Anything. In the shower, I started to idly wonder, what would it really be like if my dad was to pull a Mr. Gao? We'd have to divvy up the assets of course, I reasoned. My brother and I could probably share the house. I'd be living in it and showering in an empty house... like I am now... Then the significance of it set in. Who would take care of my dad's garden? And his roses? The only thing I'm good for is pulling up plants. I can't keep them alive very well. Hot tears sprang up immediately. My dad's garden... That's what he would leave behind if he was to suddenly go. And I wouldn't even be able to take care of it for him. There'd be no mom and dad. No mom and dad. The enormity of that began to hit me, and I started to feel very small and very alone as I dried myself off from the shower. Sometimes I'm a little too good at playing pretend.

I don't think I give my parents enough credit. Even despite the fact that we fight constantly, and I always claim I'm trying to get away so I can be independent, they are the pillars that hold my life up. After all, I've never known life without them. I felt strangely adrift and lost. I think our parents are our anchors in the sea of life. And I suddenly wished that I would go before both my parents. So I wouldn't have to know life without them. Because even though I'm my father's daughter, I'm also mother's daughter. And it could be a toss-up between my inheriting the Zen personality or the emotional personality, with the odds favoring the latter.

As I wandered around the empty house, I knew my parents were likely safe on a flight to Hawaii. Hopefully safe (I did inhert my dad's sense of Worst Case Scenario coupled with my mom's worrisome nature). But I still couldn't shake that sense of being lost and adrift. All because of the lack of a note that I usually make fun of my mom for. Who's laughing now. Certainly not me.

As I packed up my backpack, I decided that no one should ever be allowed to leave without leaving a note of some sort. A proper goodbye is only polite after all. What if the plane was to crash? Wouldn't they wish they had said goodbye? I was going to have a nice talk with my parents about this when they got back. Then my laptop beeped at me. I had mail. I loaded up my gmail thinking it was a friend wishing me farewell, and instead, blinking at me was an email from.... my mom. I started to laugh. My mom never uses the computer. The only website she knows how to access is Oprah.com. I set up a yahoo account for her last week and taught her how to use it, and apparently, it had stuck!

"Hi sweetheart." It said. I bristled a bit out of habit. I'm no one's sweetheart! I'm not even sweet! But, I was proud of her. "Have a wonderful trip," it continued, "Enjoy, and be careful. Love you, always."

I felt much better. Now I can pack up and go with peace in my heart. I hate to admit it, but maybe I'm a bit of a mush. Maybe I'll leave my mom a little farewell email myself, so she can have something in her inbox when she gets back.