"Where we love is home--home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
Used to be I would lie in bed awake, waiting for the sound of the garage door opening. I liked the sound. It brought me peace. It meant that Max was home safe and that I could sleep without startling awake, wondering where he was. Even without the sound of the door opening and closing, I could tell when he was here. He has this way of bounding the stairs, doesn't matter up or down, and taking two steps at a time. No one else in this house comes in quite like he does. His arrival is as unique as a thumbprint.
From my vantage point, lying in bed with my door ajar, I could even tell it's his hand putting on the bathroom light in the hallway, just the way he does it, with his full hand flat and covering the light switch. He flips the switch between the second and third fingers on his right hand. Is it weird that I know that? It's funny that I could know these small details considering how little I know about what's going on in his head. But kids aren't always supposed to tell you every single thing they're thinking. I discovered a long time ago that our kids have a secret life, apart from what we've known.
He's the least talkative of my three children. I'd throw out the term "typical guy" here, but I don't think there really is such a thing. I just know that when he does talk about what he's thinking, I am like a soldier! I snap to attention and listen carefully because he doesn't like to say things twice and besides, he lets out his news and information so infrequently, I'm practically starved for his conversation.
He's away at school now and each one of us in this house feels his absence in his or her own way. I miss the way he leaves his fingerprints all over the microwave when he cooks up his Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches. I miss him asking ,"Mom, have you seen my work shirt? my wallet? my phone? Can you help me with my earring?" I miss the way he leaves the house and comes back in three times because he's forgotten his wallet, his phone, his iPod. I miss the way he hugs his big brother and jokes around with his sister. I miss the way he'll ask me for permission for something instead of going to his father because I'm the permissive one.
I've been wondering if I will ever get used to this. How long will it take? Does one ever get used to children leaving? It's the future of every parent after all. After Max, it will be Olivia. Then someday, Cliff, who will need to find his own life before his parents leave this world.
I have to tell you, I miss them already.
The first year or two is very hard to get used to, but after a while you do get a little more *accustomed* to them gone. But you always miss them! At almost 31 (!!!) my son is living on his own (almost married - is there such a thing?), but still makes me work at getting information from him - it's not easily forthcoming. I'm the one that calls him to see how he is, etc. I keep a lot of photos of him from his younger years all around my desk as a sweet reminder!
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