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Transitions Redux
By Stephanie Kemp








She is in the air.
Flying to college under the dwindling light of a rare Blue Super Moon.
(I wish) that made me feel better.

There was a last supper Casa Bianca Pizza Pie (plus pasta al forno and a token salad) for a family of four, followed by a late night Arroyo walk for two sisters.  

And yes, it felt that dramatic.

There was very little sleep for anyone and a 4am fog (and fog) fueled drive to and from the airport ending with half of us flying to the opposite side of the country while the other half cried on the outer edge of this side, listening to Hall & Oates over Chicken & Waffles (plus a short stack and a side of bacon) at IHOP because our beloved Fred 62 was closed.

The IHOP half is home now (school doesn’t start for three fucking hours) and there are heartbreaking ghosts everywhere:  

Don’t strip the bed! Don’t wash that glass! She forgot her favorite pen!

How do you move around your own house when everything hurts?

(For the first time, I am grateful for the familiarity of this question, especially because it the best kind of missing someone - the kind where they are starting on the path they have worked so hard to get to - and will be back for 17 days at Christmas. It is grief with a happy ending if you can squint your eyes the right way and try to emotionally process all the things you have been preparing for mentally.)

The up in the sky half are probably having a great time….For now.

(The Whole of Us knows that we will continue to take turns being happy and sad, just as we have always known.)

I was almost jealous that the other half of my half had school today, until I remembered that her heart is broken, too.

I can’t believe how many tears can hide in our cheeks.
I can’t believe how hard it is to swallow.
I can’t believe I thought writing poems would keep me upright.
I can’t believe I thought I would “be ok as long as she is ok.”

Actually, that last one feels promising. I just have to tweak it:

“I will be ok as long as she is ok.”

But not yet.

First I have to finish crying my eyes out.
Jump in the ocean.
Start to make deals with the ghosts.

After that I will focus (but not over-focus - as she made me promise) on her sister and hope that this will somehow help me get my shit together for a 10th Grade Back to School Night, starting in 8 hours and 44 minutes. The one I just found out about over a pre-dawn chicken listening to Rich Girl as I waited for Sarah to Smile.

If/when my shit is together (and my cheeks are empty), I will love that she got to fly away to college under a Blue Super Moon. I (already) love that there will be another one tonight, covering us under a shared lunar blanket from either side of our wobbly country, reconnecting us as as we begin to navigate this foreign land of physical distance. The moon is showing us a backroad. Extending an experienced hand. Offering us a coupon while supplies last.

I hope this is true. Not just because there’s poetry in it, but because I never want to be the person on Planet Earth (or anywhere else) who chooses not to see the magic of being able to fly through the sky on a piece of metal in a (formerly) comfortable seat en route to their next life destination. Or the magic in any or everything else. (Please remind me that I said this….....And to anyone who might want to call me out for sort of stealing Louis CK’s bit about flying through the sky on a piece of metal, he sort of shouldn’t have masturbated in front of those - or any - professional colleagues, ever.)

Which brings me back to something that might pass for full circle (if on a  somewhat lighter note):

Go Nads!

(Nads is the unofficial, intramural sports mascot name of my daughter’s college. It is an art school.)

Clearly I will need some sleep before BTS night...

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ps./later……BTS Night was fantastic. I am not kidding (if still a little puffy)!

And as if I/we/you/they/anyone needed more?

I just took a beautiful picture of my better half (of our half) taking a beautiful picture of the Still Blue Super Moon on the way home from our delicious dinner (at a place called JOY) while the other half of our whole slumbers their way toward morning in a hotel bunkbed courtesy of a three hour time difference, a massive travel day and a ton of really beautiful hard work by a singular person who was just a tiny baby.…18 years ago.  

(I will obviously have rename this essay “Goodnight, Moon.”)

                                                            
pps. She left her sister a Cheap Trick album hidden under her bed. It’s the one with that song that goes: “Mommy’s alright…Daddy’s alright, They just seem a little weird.” It’s called “Surrender.” 

The sisters are already (still) whole.

I am going (back to) bed.