2005-05-01 - 7:08 p.m.

So my one-and-only daughter, Elizabeth, moved from New York City (Greenwich Village, no less) to Toronto (a "second city" in a whole nutha country) in order to be with her "manwich." His name is Mike Wallace; I'm not making that up.

Even after weeks of packing up boxes here at our apartment and weeding out her Manhattan Mini Storage space, I guess I was still in some sorta denial about her actually leaving.

Even though she'd lived in Canada for five years (1998-2003), and even though I eventually grew to love my privacy, my always-neat apartment, my "bachelorette" pad...once Elizabeth returned to the nest in '03, we bonded closer than ever.

I loved to watch her cook her crazy vegetarian concoctions, e.g., "Chinese Delicious," and to take walks with her for ice cream or to pick up mozzarella at Joe's Dairy or Rocco's pastries on Bleecker or veggie Shepherd's Pie at Tea & Sympathy (um, we love food). Or shop at Loehmann's or Sephora together. Just hanging out with her was hilarious. We laughed CONSTANTLY. We had our own special words/phrases that always "killed us"...Dr. Brown, Nixons, dodgeball, sludgeheap, sammies, sleep-eater, cousin Rito, gooned up, sponge mom squareface, beateens, shnaigs, woogies,etc.

Now, who's gonna show this Jurassic computer numbskull how to open zip files or download photos and where to file them when I do...and how to remember wherever the hell I filed them.

Who's gonna give me outfit and hair approval for dates?

Who's gonna goof on me for still using AOL? Or laugh at my failing menopausal memory?

Who's gonna impart her wisdom and generosity and optimism on this stubborn, cynical mom?

Anyway, I held it together even as more and more boxes piled up and the closet was bare of her dozens of mini skirts and stillettos, sweaters and custom-decorated jackets, hand-crocheted scarves and pins and tote bags. She's so creative and upbeat; so stylish in a non-obnoxious way.

Then everything just speeded up too fast. Mike arrived Friday night with a 16-foot Ryder truck, the next day my friend Hoffie and I helped the happy couple load the damn thing up...and this morning they pulled away from Horatio Street, made a left at 14th & 8th...and were gone. What the fuck?

I started tearing up in the elevator (grateful that no one else was in there), made it past Barbara-the-yenta's door without a peep, then walked into the apartment, took one look at her empty desk...and the flooding began. Great heaving sobs and wailing. Oprah has called it "ugly crying"...and she's right. All mucus bubbles coming out of your nose and phlegm balls forming in your throat, your mouth all distorted in some mask-of-tragedy way. It's the kind of hysteria Diane Keaton experienced in "Something's Gotta Give" after Jack Nicholson ditched her.

Just when I thought I had it together, I'd open the fridge and see all her crazy Asian sauces and condiments and just burst out crying all over again. I'd calm down once more, then spy her Fred Flare stuff or the maple leaf tiara her friend Cecelia made for her going-away party. This on/off wailing continued for about two hours. In between I'd start laughing at what I must look like. Then it would start all over again till I was all cried out. (Actually, it's nice to know the anti-depressants haven't turned me into a total zombie...I can still cry!!)

I dragged myself to the Chelsea Market alone, but felt all weepy there, too...passing Portico (Elizabeth loved that place) and the Italian imports store (where she bought those wierd fruit-and-fiber biscuits). I feel like I can't go anywhere in the Village (or anywhere) that won't make me sad to be without her. There's no one on Planet Earth I'd rather hang out with. She's the most perfect human, with a true and giving heart, and she's my best friend.

Now I've gone all weepy/blubbery again. It's SO not pretty. She just texted me to say that they were in Canada and almost at their new place. Of course, Elizabeth bought all new Ralph Lauren bedding and Kate Spade towels. That makes me smile. She doesn't even have a job yet...but designer bed-and-bath products...that she has.

Oh god, I know I'll feel better and better...and get used to having the place to myself all over again. And I know she's happy and excited about her move. I've missed visiting Toronto these past two years, so that will be fun to do. It will be all good.

But on this gray good-bye Sunday, there's just this palpable loneliness...and ugly tear-puffed eyes.

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