Live and Let Go 

I stare at him across the table. He looks tired but still manages to tell us about his day – how this is one of the busiest time at his workplace and how he was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. We listen to him, his brother looks on, hanging on his every word. His Dad nods as they sit side by side. 

He said he is working more hours, one of his co-workers he really likes is moving away and so is his manager. He is sad, he says but is okay. He is growing up, my son. 

He moved away, after all, to be independent. And so far he seems to be doing fine. 

I, however, am not.  

I still feel sad whenever he leaves, I miss him a lot. I can’t help but get all choked up whenever I pass by his room. His door that creaks whenever he opens it is now eerily silent.

 I keep his bed clean with crisp sheets, his favorite comforter and his fleece blanket in the hopes that he will once again lay there. 

Each time he comes to visit, I drop everything and make sure I give him my full attention. I over feed him and make him take more food – from the fridge, the pantry, the table. 

It doesn’t get easier. Each time he leaves, he takes a piece of my heart. I hug him and tell him I love him, be careful driving. He assures me he will and that he loves me too. 

He leaves and I stay standing at the door until his car is no longer visible. I go back to whatever I was doing, trying hard to make it as I die a thousand times deep inside. 

  

 

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Published in: on November 22, 2015 at 12:17 am  Comments (2)  

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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. ((HUGS))

    • Thanks, Beth. (((Hugging you right back))))


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