I wave goodbye one more time and drive away
Sighing to myself, I feel accomplished
I relish in the thought of my impending alone time
At home I close the door behind me, then I see it –
The things they’ve left behind
More shoes than we have feet for under the entryway bench
A scattering of cups in the kitchen
A granola bar wrapper on the floor next to the trash can
A half-done puzzle on the hallway floor
Little socks, so many little socks
A stack of games in the corner of the living room
Their framed art on the coffee table
A collection of rocks on the bathroom counter (?)
Barbies in the empty tub
And their rooms
So quite and still, almost like they were never there
Kind of like an empty shell
A memory of life, but vacant
Two stuffed animals on the ground
Faded marker on the white desk
Little clothes *almost* in the hamper
The essence of their smiling faces in pictures
A single leaf on the chair
Books spilling off of the bookshelf
A tiny family of bunnies in a tiny doll house
I sit there in that quiet space, feeling like a visitor
I own this house, but not this room
I am their mom, but not their moon
Their choices require my guidance
Their bodies, my hugs
Their struggles, my comfort
But their lives are their own
Of that I am reminded when they go
And if I didn’t take advantage of those last minutes to be present
I worry they will remember my absence instead
Then as quickly as they leave, they return
They fill the space
It’s as if they never left
M
