it’s April, the spring showers are trying to grow something under my feet and in my soul
I had lunch with my son today, a possibility that will disappear in the fall when he’s gone
I only recently discovered that his senior privileges allow for him to meet for lunch in the middle of the day like working adults sometimes do
I’m taking the advice of a friend who’s been through this, senior lunches with his son that is
“just let him talk,” he advised, so I did and intend to do with these fleeting Thursdays we have left
todays topics:
college choices
girlfriend commitments
sister friendship
book reviews
and the possibility of adopting his foster siblings
as I’m cherishing his words I notice his lavender cardigan
it’s the clearest expression of his inscape, which I adore
“he’s so adult now,”I think to myself
uninvited flickering images pepper my imagination:
meconium covers my pointer finger as i attempt to change my first diaper
a night spent sleeping on the floor of his room with a piece of Tupperware in hand to catch vomit which comes with the regularity of a metronome from his five year old body
my wife holding him as he empties his tears onto her shoulder after his first pet death
an Amazing Race themed birthday party with celebrated in a museum
that thing April is growing in me–it’s grief.
I’m going to have to say goodbye to all of this
these are the last moments of this.
Soon he will leave and in his bags he’ll pack clothes, books, and his posture of dependence.
and then, a few weeks later he’ll come for the first time and having failed to return with him it will be gone forever
and I’ll slaughter the fattened calf to celebrate the dinner in which I’m introduced to my new son
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