The roast was braised, and simmered — but I had yet to find time to cook the potatoes I would later mash. I was busy getting his room ready, and even after every picture was in place, that open window of time never came. In the flurry of his first college visit home, I did my best to give him “space.” I didn’t bombard him with questions and to-dosÂ the minute he walked through the door — just a smile and a hug… and I stayed quiet.
Meals were just a suggestion — “I have a roast ready, if you and your friends are hungry,” or “Would you like chili, if I made it?” Although he said yes, and his friends agreed, they ended up going somewhere else for dinner, and the chili was never even made.
The texts of meeting places and questions came flying in as quickly as goose feathers fly when pillows are torn — how much can you fit into 96 hours?
But they ended up showing up eventually, and the one constant “crowd pleaser” was the home-made Chex Mix, and the availability of Iphone chargers.
The music they made reverberated through the house until well past 2 a.m.
Once in the morning, when we were alone in the kitchen, he pulled open a drawer to grabÂ a spoon for his cereal, and he spotted the bag of caramels I had tucked in beside the forks. I happened to see his eyebrow slyly raise, as he said, “That’s a good hiding place,” as his fingers pulled some from the bag.
And then I remembered what I had forgotten, the little quirky things that make him who he is, and I decided to Â miss him more this time than I did at first. Because then I had no idea how much I would forget about him.
As his ride came on Sunday, and the car slowly pulled away, I waved and said, “See you in two weeks!” And silently wondered if my heartÂ really take all of these future good-byes.