"I miss you already." - Barbra Streisand in The Guilt Trip
I'm certain a million people have said this line before Barbra Streisand said it to me via Seth Rogen yesterday, but something about the way she said it, or maybe the way she shares my mom's name, hit a little harder than I expected.
It wasn't that they were parting ways at the airport or that she was saying she already missed her son, who was actually still standing in front of her, and it wasn't the tears she was trying not to let go. It was the way she said goodbye then turned around - all strength - and took control of her life, and then the way her son looked on as she did so, sadly, but fondly. It's something I will never, ever be able to do.
The movie shows a mother who has to let go of her son and recognize that he's an adult, so that she can take a new step in her life. It implies that her love for her son was holding her back, which is sad, but probably does not deserve the response I gave it. The loss I felt was more akin to the son dying and the mother doing what she needs to keep herself alive and happy, and in Seth, I saw a son saying goodbye to his mother forever. Which is why I will never be able to give a strong goodbye.
Perhaps, I should tell you here, that the movie is a happy one, I promise, despite my depiction. The problem is, I live in a constant state of "I miss you already," and I don't think I'm alone in this. In the words of thee Little Edie Beale, "It's difficult to keep the line between the past and the present." The quote has many possible meanings, but the one I see most clearly and most often is that it's hard to not use the past as preparation for the present. When the past is filled with worst case scenarios that were too likely, it's hard to not have expectations, and personally, I tend to give my full effort to keeping those worsts from happening again.
Of course, I know it's impossible to keep things from happening, so the next best thing is to be prepared for the worst case by imagining it's happening every time anything happens. Phone calls are notifications of car accidents, fires, and heart attacks. Visits at work are because whatever news is about to be delivered, is too difficult for over the phone - usually someone has cancer, or a drug overdose, or heart failure. Even the thought of a simple hug goodbye leaves my throat burning because I have to make it a forever goodbye - because, well, just in case.
You see, death, even when it's a gift, is the worst case, simply because it's the last thing to happen to a life, and the last thing is always the saddest. Say what you will about souls, but I think we can all agree that if they exist, they are different than the bodies that we know - they would be a new thing, at best - and the old is still lost.
Now, for the point of this post. Three of my closest friends have lost their moms much earlier than seems right for the America we live in, and one of them lost two of her best friends much earlier than seems right for anywhere in the world. One of them called me earlier this week, one is marking an anniversary today and next week, and just this morning one said she misses her mom. This post is for them, because I want them to know that I miss them already.
I miss you already in the same way you miss your mothers and friends, right now. I miss you like you'll miss them tomorrow, and later this week, and right now, again. I can't bring them back, I can't make your relationships with them better or worse so it would be easier for you to take, I can't even put words like, "I'm proud of you" and "I love you" and "I miss you, too" in their mouths, even though I'm certain the words would be there.
All I can do is miss you already, because it means you're important to me, and even though you're sitting next to me, or across the room, or a state down, I have to start preparing for the possible moment when you're not in my life in some capacity, because the shock of that fact, would be too much to leave to the whims of fate; so I can't.
When the phone rings late at night, I will worry it's you, or your husband or your wife or some stranger calling about you. When I get two calls in a row from you, even in the middle of the afternoon, I will always be afraid to answer. When you say, "I have a confession" or "I need to tell you something," or "Can we talk" I will always be left feeling a little weak when it's just that you want to go on a road trip, meet for lunch, ask about a TV show, or talk for no reason at all - even though those are the reasons I always want you to be calling.
And when we say goodbye, for the night, for a week, or for years, know that I will be a complete fucking mess for a minute, and will do my very best to avoid that situation at all costs, which means I may miss our goodbyes altogether. Because I've been missing you all along, anyway.
I hope that you know, since I guess I'm a "Sheldon," that this seems bigger than and as close to love as I can get, at the same time. I know it's not the same as the normal love that people give, but because you know loss, I hope that you can see some value in it. And I hope that it makes you happy, even if it doesn't make you less sad - although you should also know that will always bother me, because I wish you weren't ever sad about anything.
You are good, and important and my world is better with you in it. It's just the fact of the matter. I will always miss you already.
