It’s too quiet in the car. There’s no little voice singing in the back seat. There are no questions, comments, observations, distracting me as I drive. No requests for Tic Tacs, Kleenex, opinions on made-up tunes. I can put on my music as loudly as I want.
But somehow I don’t want it loud. Somehow none of the stations I pick make me happy.
There is no small body hanging on to the end of my grocery cart. No tiny voice asking me for cupcakes. No suggestions about cheese, soda pop, cereal. No wee girl begging to go see the lobsters in their tank.
But I want to see the lobsters.
There are no new toys on the floor. No clothes being changed five times a day, no snacks, treats, or meals being requested every time I turn around. There is no one to help me fold the clothes. No one to help me carry in the groceries. No one to water the plants with me, stir the pasta with me, read books with me. There is no one to wait by the bathroom door.
Everything is wrong.
For 13 years I have put in my time, knowing that someday my time would be my own again.
Now that it’s here I think I want it all back.
I did not think that I would cry.
I was wrong.