general sadness. Actually grief and oblivion (and anybody who's read that one will get an idea of the scale of things).
The Kid has decided to leave home. I'm playing the song at full volume approximately 25 hours a day. When she emerges from her room I throw myself on the floor and cry, beating my fists against the carpet.
This is the end. I've been a parent for 32 years. A sustained campaign of breakfast in bed 'yes, sweetie, a tequila sunrise with your crunchy nut cornflakes, no problem' is in the offing, followed by 'oh, well, at least I can make love to your mother on the stairs/sofa/dining table when you're gone'. It's not going to work. If ever there was a child (hark at me) who knew her own mind, this is it. This immense part of my life will pass in to shade.
How Susie will cope I've no idea. I've never been under any illusion - The Kid is her number one, and I'm a distant second.
It's not as if she lives in our pockets now. She's out and away as much time as she is home. The truth is, though, that even if we don't see her for days on end, there's a presence around the place. The room we're not supposed to go in. The washing that accumulates on her floor. The odd stuff in the fridge. The matches disappearing. The friends calling up. The cat sleeping on her bed during the afternoon, appearing, somehow to be both waiting for her and making sure that we don't take him for granted. But, when she comes round to see us, it will be a new person, someone who lives elsewhere, coming from their place, to our place which is that much less because she's not here.
It's been the most wonderful thing, being a step-parent. I can thoroughly recommend it. There's a hundred, or a thousand small moments that will light up what remains of my memory. It's the new present I worry about. I'm not sure we know how not to be looking after somebody.
Let them go and watch them grow, trust me, parent and step parent, watching them grow into confident, independant individuals is just the next chapter.
