He will turn 23 next month, and here I am still up, waiting, waiting for him to be home -- safe and sound well in bed in what will most likely be the wee' fresh breath morning of a Sunday. That is how it is, this whole twang of being a mother, no matter the age of your child, the being up, here, there, PRESENT, even if it be annoying ( to them, the young 'uns, yes, because I was specifically told before he stepped out at 9 to NOt wait UP) or ignored, nevermind. It is an impulse, automatic, a reflex, the body resisting rest, quivering in wakefulness as if the very cells of me are jolly occupied in a party of coffee - caffeinated energy at 1 am. Fine.
Life happens in stages.
Someday soon they will be on their own..and I will think back to this...the wake-full-ness...and I know I will be thankful that LIFE was kind enough to grant me these someone's that are etched in my heart, to wait for them, when they were young...and still in this home...
perhaps I will miss..the waiting.
