March Slice of Life Story Challenge
hosted at the Two Writing Teachers
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The silence is only broken through the wind’s impulsive gusts, my husband’s sporadic snore, the squeak of my daughter’s bed as she seeks out the spot for a few more moments of sleep, and the soft rhythm of deep slumber from my son. And I am still.
I am consumed in the rare fact of knowing that they are well, they are safe, they are home.
Two years ago when my daughter left for college and my son moved to where he now lives, I struggled. Not with the fact that they were gone, but with the silence they left behind. I still do.
The mornings are the hardest. The first year I asked my husband to turn a light on each morning before he left for work; so that I wouldn’t have to wake in the dark. Wake in the alone. I have gotten better with the dark; but the alone-the quiet of it still follows me.
I find myself listening for the squeak of the bed, or the splatter of the shower even though I know they won’t come. I yearn to have a light switch to flip on, or a toe to squeeze warning she’d better hurry or she’ll be late.
And I worry. I worry that they are safe. I worry that they are warm enough. I worry if they’ll be late or hungry, settled or scared. I worry.
But not this morning. This morning I know they are well. They are home. And for these few short moments before they get up and return to their new lives- I am still.
Thank you Linda for the great advice.