Amy Signs: A Mother, Her Daughter, and their Stories

24. Emptying the Nest

164 24 Emptying the Nest Rebecca On August 27, John started first grade. Amy and I dropped him off at 8:15 a.m. with the promise we’d return at 3:30 p.m. Jack and I decided to have him attend Trinity Lutheran, which is across town, rather than the public school two blocks from our home because of the quality education he will receive at Trinity. Soon I’ll be spending my days alone, but today I still have Amy with me. As we drive home, chores nag at me. I need to call Mother to see if she’s finished sewing labels on Amy’s underwear. I’m glad she volunteered to do this tedious work. I’d go nuts if I had to sew labels on ten pairs of socks.Good grief, I still have to sew four pairs of pajamas for Amy. The crossing arm drops as we approach railroad tracks. I turn to the back seat and say,“Look, Amy, a train.”The whistle blares as the train passes. Amy signs “train.” Three massive engines chug by pulling hopper cars filled with coal. Amy signs “big, loud.”I wonder if she heard the whistle or drew her conclusion from the ground vibrating. Minutes later, we bounce across the uneven tracks. Amy’s flips her head from side to side to accentuate the bumpy ride; an earpiece is jarred loose, filling the car with its squeal. I wave my hand, but Amy ignores my frantic gesture. At a red light, I reach over the seat, tap her shoe to get her attention, and point to her ear. She searches for the earpiece by pulling on the Amy Signs Main Pgs 1-320.indd 164 6/27/2012 10:37:44 AM Emptying the Nest 165 slender cord. I shudder, knowing the cord will not tolerate such abuse. She inserts the earpiece. The squealing continues. I better call Laverne and have new ear molds made before Amy goes to school. School. In less than two weeks, Amy will be in Omaha, and then I’ll be home alone. All alone. ) Sunday, September 9. After church and an early lunch, Jack lugs a blue foot locker I have filled with Amy’s clothes to the car. John and Amy climb into their car seats clutching their stuffed animal pillows, while Jack and I latch our seatbelts for the three-hour drive to Omaha. The fields fly by my window at warp speed. Jack must be speeding. I check the speedometer. He’s a mile under the limit. Amy is sucking her fingers and hugging her cat pillow. For weeks I’ve shown her pictures of NSD, saying “This is where you’ll go to school.” I’ve explained that Mommy, Daddy, and John will take her there, but we’ll go home and she’ll stay. Can she fathom this separation ? I don’t know. I know I can’t. One minute here, the next gone. There’s no way to slide into good-bye. At two-thirty we drive through the gates of NSD. Since this is Jack and John’s first time here, I point out the buildings as we drive pass them.The door to the primary dorm is propped open. A colorful sign says, “Welcome parents and students.” I do not feel welcome; I’m anxious. I want this wrenching separation over, but I want Amy with me as long as possible. As Jack parks the car, I watch a couple hug a girl about eight years old; they turn and walk toward their car without looking back.Their faces remind me of the stern couple in the painting by Grant Wood I studied in art history.Their daughter bites her lips and stares at her shoes. Like a mother hen gathering her chicks, other girls surround the girl, hiding her from view. Their fingers flash words too fast for me to understand. Before the couple enters their car, they turn toward their daughter, but her back is to them. One of the girls signs something, and the eight-year-old girl turns and waves. Her parents wave and enter their car. The girls close their huddle, shielding her from the disappearing car. Amy Signs Main Pgs 1-320.indd 165 6/27/2012 10:37:45 AM 166 Amy Signs Does parting ever become easier for the child? Or...