Wednesday, July 31, 2013

boy, the




There are no big hugs, no fireworks, no popping of champagne corks, no releasing of balloons. Nobody throws confetti when he steps out of the car. I want this to be normal so I pretend this is normal.

Dinner's ready. I've made one of your favorites. Extra spicy. This time I made it from scratch.

I tell myself I'd smile like this any day of the week and I try not to need too much and he's not hungry and we'll go visit Pop and Grammie 'cause I want to show him off and he's home and I've missed him.

And I want to take a picture and there is a camera but I'd have to turn my head to pick it up.

I don't want to turn my head.

His hair is longer than I remember, curling with the day old face scruff and he looks relaxed like he's going to Florida or something but here he is pacing on a porch and telling stories and if he takes a breath I'll wait because more than anyone or anywhere else I feel connected to him and space.

Carry on, my son. Carry on.



The boy is home and I can't even begin to express how grateful I am so I'll just say this is normal and for a few days we'll pretend it is.





3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Nice, chill bumps are back.

nan said...

Of course this is my favorite!!!! I love your boy MORE!!!!!

Shea Goff said...

I just can't stop smiling, Anonymous.



You'll never know how much I appreciate your love for him, Nan.