We were snowed in.
Somewhat caught up with the housekeeping, laundry washed, dried, folded; Nate in his room downstairs, Thulani at work, it overcame me.
I began to miss my sons even though both were very reachable.
One so near I could hear his television.
I was missing an era.
I was missing the times they were both on top of me, getting in my way. I was missing the way they’d run all over the house chasing each other, doing cart-wheels then landing on the sofa. Much to my faked chagrin they’d skateboard from the kitchen to the living room and back again. I was missing their rapid shift from fast friends to seeming enemies following the most minor of interpersonal hiccups. I recalled with fondness how immediately they’d make up as soon as I tried to play peacemaker.
The baby years, the toddler years, the so-called tweens.
I was missing the us we were, and, like emotional jet-lag taking its toll, it hit me all at once.
There is no doubt that I love them exactly as they are and I want them to be exactly where they are and doing what they are doing.
Deep inside me, snow falling all round, I was longing for what we were, what was, what is gone.
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