One Dozen

I had to schedule this year’s visit. For the first time, I had to put it on the calendar in my phone.

We came Sunday, a day early, technically speaking. I knew if I waited, the day, the week would get away from me.

Earlier in the day, I was scheduled to be on book for a JV basketball game at our school. This is the age you would be.

In a different life, you would be one of these boys. Probably on the tall side, possibly a little awkward and uncoordinated, like I was at 12. But serious, attentive to your coaches, and wanting to play well.

Or maybe you’d be a little more like your dad, more naturally athletic, and a bit of a clown, fiercely cheerful as you dribbled down the court.

I think you would tease your sisters; I think your little brother would idolize you.

I think; I wonder; I don’t know.

And… in a way, it’s okay. We come to terms. We’ve learned so much; we’ve walked so far.

And, yet.

I put a visit in my phone, just the same. Picked up flowers. It’s not for you; I know that, I have peace in that. It’s for me; a moment I need to steal, a moment that I need to remember. That I have four children, not just three.

"What are you thinking?" "Gotta feed the living." "I prefer it that way." Me too, my love. Me too.
“What are you thinking?” “Gotta feed the living.” “I prefer it that way.” Me too, my love. Me too.

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