Closet Cleaning

Good day for it; gray, cold, sleeting. Trying to get ready for the holidays. Tears when I stumble upon certain somethings. Anger that this horrible thing happened. Wanting to throw it all out, without looking. Wanting to keep it all. Hating the holidays. Wishing we could just fast forward. Knowing that we can't. Trying to make it better. Wondering how. Keeping his golf shoes, again.

The Empty Nest

It's more than missing Lou. On a dreary, rainy November night like this, it's missing all that went before. It's missing hearing the kids when you put the key in the door. The running down the hall to give you a hug. The swoosh of activity at the end of the day. The rush to get dinner on the table. The clamboring for attention. The chatter at the dinner table. The mess after dinner. The homework/brushteeth/storytime routine. The plopping on the couch, together. Another day done. I miss all that. I miss all that when I put my key in the door to be greeted by darkness and silence, save for the kitties. I hear the echoes of the kids and wish I could hear it again, wish I could have that life one more time, again, even if only for one day, even if only for one key turn in the door after work. If you have it, yourself, grab hold and hang on to it, tight. It slips through your fingers oh so quickly. The empty nest is not all it's cracked up to be.