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I ascend the stairs slowly
Each one a punishment
Bringing me closer
To stunning emptiness
And stark silence;
I stand in the door
Of his room
The hardwood floors shining
Light playing through the blinds
The bed neatly made
Shelves abandoned
Posters gone.
I can hear his laughter reverberate
Echoes of sibling arguments
And his admonishing me to get off the phone
"I'm expecting a call, Mom…"
I examine the times
I stood in his door
Watching him sleep
Never thinking he would ever be gone
From me
His china blue eyes veiled
Tousled light brown hair
Making soft spikes in his pillow
Too grown for me to sweep into my arms and cuddle
I think of his dimpled smiles
French fries we ate together
Laughing
Teasing cajoling ways
Always the adolescent con artist
I think of his babyhood
When his hair hung in white blond ringlets
And I was his whole world;
How he curled close to my body
Hungry for my milk and murmuring.
He was only mine, then.
Now,
Its' high school
And social whirling
Studies and girls.
I talk to him on the phone
Instead of in person.
I watch him growing up
But from a strange, unwelcome and contorted distance.
We discuss his goals and dreams
I urge him to dream big,
Work hard, make it happen.
He gets out of my car
I watch him walk away
He is anxious to get in the house and see
Who has called him.
My heart squeezes too hard
Leaden with aching
Tears pooling too fast
Gulping hard
Can't see to drive.
He lives with his father
Now.
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