I had a rather odd experience a few days ago. We were snowed in and I was somewhat caught up with my housekeeping and bookkeeping (tax-time is looming) and the laundry was all done and folded – no ironing in this house, we don’t even have an iron, and Nate (16) was in his room downstairs and Thulani (20) was at university some 60Ks away.
And, it came over me. I began to miss my sons, both of whom were very reachable. One so near I could hear his TV.
I was missing an era. I was missing times when they were both on top of me, getting in my way. I was missing their running all over the house, chasing each other. I was missing their rapid shift from fast friends to seeming enemies they had mastered and how they’d immediately make up as soon as I tried to play peacemaker.
I was missing the early years; the baby years, toddler years, and it all seemed to hit me at once, a kind of emotional jet-lag taking its toll.
Oh, I love them exactly as they are. I want them to be exactly where they are.
But something deep inside was longing for what was.
If something similar ever occurs with you, please describe it in a email.
I’d love to know.
difficultrelationships.com 
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