There were tears. Mine. They didn’t look back, neither of them, Jacobi or Cat. Through security at Charles de Gaulle we watched them go. Would he find his boarding pass? Would he remember to put his Important Documents holster back in position? Would he shut the zips? Cat, who he’s travelling with, a first voyage for both of them, seemed to have it all sewn up. But then I again I haven’t spent sixteen years hovering over her, picking up behind her, making sure she’s all right. Her mum and dad have done that and done it well. Their tears were at St Pancras where we took on the guardianship of both those arrows, to draw back in Paris, to let them fly. So we watched, Andy and I, soon just their outlines as his shorn peroxide head dipped and ducked, a strap over his shoulders, a phone replaced in a pocket as they turned to go. We saw them high five each other. We saw them not look back and this is as it should be. I gave myself the moments I needed to heave those sobs that say sixteen years, job done (for now). He’ll be back for Christmas and next time he flies away it will be easier. The little child sitting on my knee, the cuddle up of blonde head, the comfort and the need is tucked inside him where he can always reach it. I will be there. And do you want to hear the best of it? Because he’s a twin and as twins know, that relationship can have its ups and downs. I used to say, when they had their fights and wrangles and friendships that never seemed to be each other, I wish for you to have each’s other backs, whatever else you go through, that you’re there when it’s needed most and that moment came as Jacobi was leaving, when he needed his brother most and his brother needed him. There were tears, theirs. It made my day. So I said goodbye and did look back at those sixteen years of growing in my arms, newborn to toddler to child to young adult; how does this magic work, how can it be understood that it passes in such a flash as they said it would, the mothers on the street who stopped me when I pushed that double buggy up a hill, exhausted, tearful, treasure this, it will be gone.
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Very emotional. Feeling it and yes definitely treasuring it too.
I was deeply touched. Deeply made aware. And all because you were brave enough to share this with us who never had children. Thank you for allowing me to experience these feelings. And I sure did feel them. You write very well and express both in words and imagery magnifically.