That thing in my throat.
I think I’m winning the battle with it, but it sneaks up too often.
Tears stuck in there.
Or maybe sobs.
Because there is water in my eyes.
I’m not really that sad, am I?
But it’s this perpetual lodging of emotion
A wall of it across my throat
Right at my Adams apple.
At least it is no longer all day, every day.
It’s mostly when I kiss the last goodbye.
For twenty-three years I’ve been home.
Alone time a great gift.
Each moment with is the gift.
(And wasn’t it then, too?)
The long hours are empty of them.
Some far away. A phone call or pictures on Facebook the connection.
Others still here.
But not home.
Work. College classes. Friends.
As it should be, this.
I celebrate with and for them.
I celebrate for me, too.
Finding my rhythm.
Following my dreams now.
But I can’t avoid the grief journey.
Even when I try.
So I walk it honestly.
Letting go of that first, most treasured dream.
Staying home with them.
Teaching them to read.
Hiking and field trips
Building forts in the backyard and tents in the living room.
Snow days with shoveling and sledding and spaghetti for lunch.
Cuddling together like puppies with our favorite read-a-loud.
Praying too long at devotions.
They started timing me.
I guess I didn’t have enough alone time to satisfy all I needed to say to Him in those days.
Then driver’s licences and first jobs and sports and speech competitions
Baby steps from home.
Medium ones, too
Preparing us all for the giant leave.
One-by-one. Sometimes two or three at a time.
Strong. Ready. Joyful.
But not here.
Not here with me.
The emotion ledge in my throat doesn’t last as long today.
The house is quiet.
Excited to meet my goals.
As soon as the lump lodged in my throat allows.