Half full

What gets you through, for lack of a better word, a transition such as selling your parents' house, is first of all you. It's your faith, your spine, your heart. Your energy. Oh Lord, the energy it takes. But after all that, it's the continuity and the belief in what will remain the same, what will move forward and what will circle back.

She's coming home. Her text says that she'll be here in an hour. That girl, my niece, she is pure delight. She'll be here this weekend, her stuff will be here, her shoes on the floor, her slumber in the guestroom, her laundry in the washer, her life throughout. We have meetings tomorrow. All of you must be present, I'm told. We'll squirm. The pages and pages of details are necessary but also necessarily beyond us.

I'll take her and her brother to lunch; they'll appease me, allow me to do so, to feed them, slip twenties in their hands, push them off. Go, I'll tell them, be young, have fun.

Please check in and let me know where you are; that you are safe.

Back home, I'll grab the glass she left on the kitchen counter, open the dishwasher, hesitate, and put it back on the coutner. What's the hurry for the dishes anyway? I like the signs of her.