July 20, 2006

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Very soon, punkin, I'm going to have to start changing the dates on these posts, as I start to flee eastward across timezones on my way to your uncle's wedding.

It's a strange time for me. I'm sitting in the gate lounge at Melbourne Airport, beyond passport control. I'm effectively no longer in Australia, although the beer's still VB, and there's still broad accents all around me. There's another 40 minutes until my plane boards, naturally your dad was one of the first people through the doors when they started flashing the lights that said 'go to passport control'.

We tried to engage you in some of the airport rituals, like eating a whopper no matter what time of the day it is, but you were apparently more interested in wandering around in duty free. Lucky for your grammy that you reminded me.

OK here comes the smooshy stuff.

Already I can feel a palpable hole in my existence. The gap that exists where otherwise you would be painting my face with enthusiastic, snot ridden kisses. Where your squirming, constantly moving body would be sitting beside me. Where I'll be wondering what you're having for breakfast and if you're doing your now famous ET walk.

I'm going to miss you this week punkin. More than you'll understand until you have children of your own.

I love you.

1 comment:

kristen said...

aw the whopper reminded me of when we dropped sally at logan and then spent the day in boston with pock...now i want one...kiss bram for me...xoxo