Monday, March 24, 2014

82. I Love ... when my adult children have time to talk.

For the entire year
before my eldest went off to college,
I grieved.

I would often lay in bed
and listen to the 
noises of the house.

Four teenagers;
the days of them being in bed before us,

I'd listen to those voices
bouncing noisily within our walls
and try to 
soak it in;
try to make it last,
knowing that all too soon
it would be quiet.
Too quiet.
The house would never, ever be
as full and alive and vibrant
as it was at that very moment.

And it wasn't.

They went away,
one by one.

But when they came home,
they didn't rush to their rooms
and immerse themselves into their own world
as they had.

They brought coffee
or sat over a cup of tea
and talked.

We talked more than we did
when the lived here.

I cherish those moments,
one on one with them;
when I get to hear of their world
outside the walls
of this house.

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