Two of my three kids went [bitterly] off to school today. Le Daughter is a senior in high school. Youngest is in 8th grade. Had Le Daughter not reminded me, I would have very likely forgotten to take obligatory first day of school photos.
I took them. And you can see how Youngest has far surpassed Le Daughter in height. Shit. The kid is taller than me. Being only 5'2", that's no hard. Still. There he is.
In the mole hole, a man-child lies sleeping. No photo of him. He'll be awakened many moons later and he'll go off to work. For a couple more weeks.
He'll leave us. He'll go to college. And if you want to fault me for anything, please do fault me for going into his mole hole -- long after he's gone off to work -- and smelling his presence. It is still him. But not for long.
Did I wipe a tear as I washed clothes this morning?
Yes, I did.
Do you want to make something of it? 'Cause I could so take you. And you. And you.
But I can't take away the fact that he leaves in mere weeks. Good-bye. As in, really. Good. Bye.
I came "home" the summer between freshman and sophomore years. And I never came home again.
So you can understand why stray tears fall. But they fall into nothing. And they fill up a canister of love.
I will have to get used to being a scent-free home.
He's a wonderful kid, that boy of mine. And I only wish him well. I don't want him to dwell on us. I want him to dwell on him.
It is as it should be. Canisters and all.