That boy on the couch emailed one day and then ended up all over the second bedroom for a week. Clothes from doorway to balcony. Shoes where he stepped out of them downstairs. Glasses of water in random locations. Front door left wide open not once but twice. Luck kept us safe.
Yesterday he left. And then today he left. It’s a long story but tonight he’s eating nasi goreng and listening to gamelan. I don’t expect him back but never say never right.
I went from mothering to distress. Too many reminders. Similarities. Are many young men like that? Must be. Too too much worry.
And then, one of the nights, I heard my own son’s voice in the street.
Thought bubbles swirl in my head with no escape. Why is it so, and how do I get us back from here to long ago there. The last few days in particular strange. The pain so sharp.
So, the second bedroom is empty again. Heart not singing and head fogged. I will wake up in the morning and go to work with a different face on. All energies focused.
I’ve got this.