Ready to Go

This thing stinks.  And it’s huge; it takes up a lot of room.  It has been underfoot in my office and on the front porch.  I’ve purchased loads of groceries and found it taking up the entire cargo area of my Suburban.  On too many humid nights, it has stunk up the entire car.  I’ve grumbled or yelled a few more expletives about it than I care to admit now.

Because it’s going back to the fire department tonight.  And it means a lot more to me than I care to admit.  Because while I will not miss its reflective body in my walkway at night, it means my oldest son isn’t going to be here to need it.

Mind you, he’s only taking a leave of absence and it will probably sit on a shelf intact until his return.  Because the plans to drive home are just as integral to his plans as his time away.  This should not upset me.  I’m really excited for the opportunity he has before him.  If he decided not to go, I’d kick him on his way.

But I’m really going to miss him and his gadgetry in the meanwhile.

And I really hope Little Bro feels, like Big Bro once voiced, “that the cavalry has just arrived.”

(Day 5/365)

One thought on “Ready to Go

  1. I’ve been trying to think of something to write in response to this post. My son is a week away from the end of his sophomore year in high school. We’re talking about colleges and majors and what he wants to do. Your post is a stark reminder that my own chick is starting to flap his wings in preperation for flight. His first day of kindergarden, I gave my wife a bit of grief about her emotional response to his starting school. I was repaid in kind on my daughters first day of school. Now the prospect of his leaving the nest fills me with a deep sadness, but also a tremendous joy that all the hard work that we put into his upbringing will hopefully soon pay off. All of the phone calls in second grade, the incidents in Jr. High with satisfying his curiosity about gravity by dropping an apple from the 3rd floor of the atrium (thankfully nobody was hurt), and wondering how a fire extinguisher works. That one got him a suspension and a royal ass chewing by his dad, a volunteer fire fighter who has access to all kinds of fun things. Now he’s writing his own music and questioning authority and getting ready to strike out on his own, and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go yet. I’m so proud of the man he’s becoming, but I still see a three year old boy in Toy Story pj’s. That’s why I wasn’t sure what to write in response to your post. I just don’t think I’m quite ready to face it. Bless you Brenda. You’ve still got a passel to go.

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