My Lovelies

I'll let the pic speak for itself...

Separation and family stress

Three more days until my boys leave and I weep while looking at this picture. My brother Steve just left his family for six months. This isn't him, though. I found it on line while searching for ways that families cope with separation.
I can't imagine what it would be like to be away for that long. I only leave my boys for a couple of weeks, at a time. There's no time to create a routine that I enjoy, which is actually both bad and good.
I become paranoid. I begin to think about all the what-ifs: "What if Torin becomes sick and I'm not there to take him to the hospital right away?" "What if there's an earthquake in California- how would I get a hold of them?" "What if something happens to them on the way to the airport? I'll never see them again." "What if there's a problem with the plane, would they notice in time?" What if I just don't hear from them- they are just missing. I couldn't go on with my life." "What if the last time I saw his will be the last time I ever see him?" Security issues become disproportionately important. Being safe is what I do to assure myself that I will see them again. So I can do anything at all. I don't feel like talking on the telephone much. I just want to be held in suspended animation until they return. I'm great about studying for the first week or ten days after they leave, but then I fall into a TV-watching depression.
I'd be drinking a lot if I weren't sharing blood with my next new best friend... who will also break my heart every time she leaves. Now's my time to take her everywhere I go. She's allowed to be with me during tests, in the lab, in meetings...
Torin holds me closer than ever these days. He sees my belly grow and he knows something is changing. Or, he knows that he's been in Chicago about the amount of time it takes for him to be taken back to SF. I have my final med school finals all next week and when Bubs takes him to the playground he cries and cries, wrapping his arm around my arm, and Bubs picks him up and takes him away. I don't cry until after they leave. Two year olds have a way of crying that makes it seem like their world is crumbling. He convinces me that he needs me more than ever. Really, I'm convinced that I need him more than anything.
Sacrificing the hugs and talks and book-readings now for... what? I do feel a sense of purpose about being a doctor, and not just for patients and community health, but for my family as well. I'll get to show my children that people can do something to help other people, to alleviate suffering. (Yes, I do still feel that way even considering the ugliness of the "Culture of Medicine." It can be done and a lot of people do it.)
That being said, next time we rearrange things for my family, we'll arrange them so that we can have a daily routine, that our lives are centralized around a common home. Being a doctor to avoid "Empty Nest"? I have an "Empty Nest" already.
When they go, I'll cry for an hour or so, I'll force myself to write a list of all the things I don't want to have to do while they're here. I'll get though most of the list in a few days and then start buying plane tickets, looking closely at my schedule, calling daycare centers to see if there's space for Torin, going to financial aide to see if there's any way we can afford it... I'll become depressed and less functional... getting by, but not doing much. I'll try to shake myself out of it, and before I slump over and give up- they're back. Then I want to spend all of my time with them, but I'll have energy to do all the things I should have been doing.
Is there any way to deal with this? How do other people deal with seraration from their families? Why was it so easy when I was the daughter? Is this just a result of residual guilt from being a bad daughter? Is it because I worry about being as absent as my mom was? How can I stop feeling this way!