R. is moving out—again. She and a friend have rented an
apartment. This is her last week at home.
We had settled nicely back into the rhythm of living
together; much nicer than her high school days. The year in college has matured
her. Her year away from home has matured us all.
As she leaves, we beam our attention on E., newly-anointed high
school senior, whose college explorations are ramping up. It is almost
unbelievable that in a year from now, we will be packing him up.
Then it will be just F. and me, in this house, in this life,
with the dog.
I’m cavalier most days, bellyaching about how I can’t wait
to have the house to myself.
But if I get really honest, and think about
the times both kids have been away and I’ve been here alone, I’ll know I’m in
for a bumpy ride.
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