I said I would never do it.
Before my son was born, I even wrote an essay in which I acknowledged that not doing it would likely be the hardest part of parenting.
And yet the entire time I was in Vancouver and missing him, I did it.
I spent my entire time away imagining and planning Graham’s future for him. Every time I saw a young man, I started to idly wonder if he were the kind of man Graham might become and before long, I was lost in my thoughts and schemes for Graham’s future and worse, my hopes and dreams for myself.
We were barely buckled into the seats in the plane when the sound of the captain’s voice started me imagining a future Graham, tall and blond in his pilot’s uniform. I missed the entire flight introduction because I was too busy envisioning future versions of Rob and I sitting on a plane (upgraded to first class, natch!) under his command.
Graham would lay out the flight plans for the passengers in a strong confident voice and then acknowledge the presence of a very special passenger: his mother, the woman responsible for introducing him to flying when he was just a baby.
The present-day me got all misty-eyed just thinking about it. In fact, I damn near stood up and started bowing to fellow passengers, who I imagined would be clapping and sighing with deep appreciation over what a wonderful mother I was.
And it just got worse from there.
At the Vancouver Aquarium, I mused to Rob about how fascinating a field I thought marine biology was. Within seconds, I lost myself in a reverie involving he and I and Graham, some twenty years on.
