Moving On...My Own

Writing has always been my salvo. It has been my salvation and my therapy. But in the last two weeks, it has eluded me. For the past four years my youngest son has been living with me, along with his two children, who spend half the week here. Now I have watched my son move to a new home with his new wife and his children. I felt happiness seeing my son find a wonderful woman and marrying her. His happiness was my joy. But in all of this, after four years of having my son and two young grandchildren living in my house, it was hard to see them leave.

I watched my grandchildren grow up in the last four years. My grandson changed from a three-year-old to a funny little guy with a sense of humor, who is now going into 2nd grade. My granddaughter has grown up and is now 11 years old. I watched her grow from a little girl to a lovely swan…who is taller then me.

All three brought light and noise into my empty life and my quiet house, long after my own nine children have grown and moved away to start their own lives and their own families. Children bring life to houses and homes, and to empty rooms. They bring a renewed meaning to life that has become dull and lonely with time. My yard has a wooden swing-set in it, an abandoned scooter on the basketball court with a small plastic playhouse, a fort partially built and a hammock waiting for them to swing in it. My kitchen window ledge has two small plants that my grandson started from the seeds of fruit and they are growing and surviving.

My hallways and rooms echo with the emptiness of my two grandchildren. Every room has a memory where some of their toys are, or a stray shoe and a t-shirt lying about. For me, the first day after they left was empty and hard and at times the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room and my lungs, until I could barely breathe and control myself.

I know I will survive and be okay (I hope) but I also know I miss my son and grandchildren. I miss the noise and games and having them around the kitchen table during dinner, to share their conversations and a meal with me. I’ll miss their laughter and my granddaughter’s, “Goodnight, Grandma” and kiss. I’ll miss listening to my grandson taking a long shower in my bathroom, drying himself off and asking me to get his pajamas that he forgot.

Where did those four years go, I wonder? But I know that life changes and maybe like those plants on my window ledge…I, too, will keep growing and will survive this part of my life.