|September 2012, saying goodbye|
I washed the floors, dusted, moved
all the perfume bottles and wiped underneath them, washed sheets and aired out the bed.
It felt like an important guest was coming to visit.
My daughter is coming home from first year university this weekend. She's been home for visits, lots of them, and stayed a few weeks when classes were light, too.
But she hasn't lived here for ten months. The rhythm in the house has changed without her. I've missed her terribly (being the only girl left in the house), but have gotten used to her not singing in the shower, not playing music in her room, not barging into the house at all hours of the day and night, calling hello.
Cleaning her room yesterday reminded me of what I've missed. We've changed. The three of us left behind are the quiet ones. Of course, she's changed, too. No one cleans her room at school, no one dusts her perfume bottles or airs out her bed. Girls her age call hello back, when she barges into the dorm room. Okay, women her age, call hello back.
After this weekend, our lives will all be different for a while, part of the reality and constant flux of being a family. It''ll probably be a little like bringing her home from the hospital for the first time, or picking her up from a week-long school trip when she was little. It won't last long, but for a little while, we'll have to get used to each other, again.
I can't wait.
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