A Quiet Room

There's an ache where there used be a smile, concern, apprehension, caring, anxiety.  Its been three weeks now since my son moved out and I miss him terribly.

I wake up with his name on my lips.  Calling for him as if he's in trouble.  My mind searching for him, but he's not here.  He's in his own place.  Where he should be, where its time for him to be, and yet all this intellectual knowledge doesn't soothe my heart.

I'll be candid.  Relations with my own family are skewed, distant and weird.  We just don't get each other.

But my relationship with my son is different.  He's my flesh and blood and we're tight.  We're close, we're friends.

He's in the city.  He's not faraway, but there's definitely a change in our domicile.  I know he's not just out, hanging out.  He's on his own and he's most likely not coming back - to live.  Which is I know how it should be and yet I still miss him.

I think of the parents who have lost their children.  Whose children have died before them, or been lost or never come home.  What a terrible, terrible, loneliness and ache that must be for them.  A room silent, with only memories.  A waiting that never goes away.

So in my empty nest grief, I find gratitude that my son is just a few miles away.  I find gratitude that if I send him a text, he writes me right back, and trust that in time this too shall pass.

Blessed Be

End Trans 4/28/10