Tear Ductitis Returns: The College Freshman

The flight attendant walked up the aisle collecting five dollars for headphones. Traveling alone without the benefit of my children for entertainment, I dug out my wallet from the carry on bag stowed securely beneath the seat in front of me. After a week away, I was down to a ten and an one. As I reached for the ten, the flight attendant whispered, "Just give me the one."

Maybe he's seen that look before — the glassy stare and quick calculations of weary travelers thinking, "If I watch the movie can I still afford to get my car out of long term parking?" Maybe his intuition told him I'd won the "all you can ride" pass on the roller coaster of midlife emotions and didn't know how to get off. Either way, it brought tears of relief and gratitude to my eyes. And down my cheeks and onto my complimentary pretzels.

I've been doing that a lot lately. Not eating pretzels, I don't think about those things unless I'm on a plane…which is when I used to remember I liked peanuts. Except they rarely serve those anymore due to cost and potential allergic reactions (all that circulated cabin air, you know). What about the guy sitting next to me who handed me his pretzel pack because he's allergic to gluten? He'd have killed for some peanuts to go with his complimentary, high altitude chilled spring water.

But where was I? Right, my continuing case of Tear Ductitis. It's been several years since my doctor warned me I was in for a long haul. The symptoms might come and go; the flare-ups more severe at times than others, but it's chronic.

After six years in treatment and following a two-year reprieve, my poor daughter returned the wide wonderful world of orthodontia. I felt sad for her, but even worse when I handed the lady at the office my VISA card. Tears fell on the receipt as I signed it.

I took a break from folding, into a loving pile, t-shirts for my son to stuff into a minute drawer in his dorm room dresser. I flipped through a twelve-year-old photo album and stared at the pictures of my little boy with his pressed uniform, shiny new lunch box and best friend posing obediently by their kindergarten door. Thankfully the t-shirts were soft and highly absorbent.

I looked in the mirror this morning to find a huge zit staring back at me and cried. Mothers of college freshmen are not supposed to be worrying about zit camouflage when we have bigger issues to ponder. Like, why are the beds always Twin Extra Long?

I stocked a desk drawer organizer full of paper clips, rubberbands, white out, pens, highlighters, scissors, pencils and tape. And tears fell on the miniature yellow post it pads.

This is going to be a long week.