I've visited three schools now with the wonderful company of my mother. Her fear of my driving keeps us occupied on the journeys there. Her packed lunches fill me on the way back.
I feel sick as I approach these buildings. My impending fear of Axel leaving my home for theirs at age 9. My loss of being with him most days, of growing up with him. Of knowing him, as I can. Will he forget us? Care? Will he be safe? Will he prefer them? Pain glows.
More searing is anticipating his confusion, bewilderment, his despair at finding himself there and not understanding a thing. What happened, where did they go? He can not speak.
And then, another imagining is that he loves it. It makes sense for him. He thrives there as I hope. His future is better secured than I could ever make it.... Anusha and I sleep, and rest and thrive and work without the constant thundering electricity of living with Axel. How very odd that will be. Seeing him will be a treat, a pleasure, with energy restored.
Then I remind myself that all of this is imagined. I can not know how he will be, or us.
I could not have imagined how extraordinarily calm he is when having his blood taken or injections and his tooth extracted. The peacefulness he exhibits when perched dangerously high up. There is no predicting how an Axel will respond to events, or perhaps, us. No doubt the experience will be as unique and unimaginable as Axel himself with an amazing spectrum of emotions.
And the idea that he would stay invites another kind of dread.
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