We have such a nice house now. Not that we didn't before, but this one, well, it's really quite a remarkable home. The nicest home I've ever lived in.
We primarily live on the first floor, Tim and I, but upstairs, there is another bathroom, right next to Cara's room. We call that Cara's bathroom. It's a nice bathroom. She has a nice bedroom, with a fireplace. Right now it is full of stuff. Lots of stuff. For several years now, Cara's room has actually been sort of a drop-off zone, where things are left, things are taken. Stuff comes and goes.
She didn't come home much this summer. She was planning her move to Altoona, working. Earlier this month, I took her there. With, predictably, a load of stuff. Still lots of stuff remains, up there, upstairs in Cara's room.
Talking to her last night on the phone, I said something, I don't know. Can't remember, but Cara said, "Um. Mom. You do get it, right? You understand that I will never live at home again."
I don't know... I guess that I did know, deep down.
I guess that I hadn't really thought about it until she said it out loud.
Tonight, I went upstairs, to that lovely bathroom. Cara's bathroom, right there at the top of the stairs, and to the right, Cara's bedroom, all full of Cara's stuff.
We have a beautiful home, the sort of home that I wish that our children had the opportunity to grow up in. We have it now, and our children don't live here. They will never see it as home.
I don't know...I guess that I did know it, deep down.
Tonight I stood at the top of the stairs and I looked at the vast expanse of gleaming hardwood floor, and before I knew it, I was crying.
I don't know...I guess I knew that I would, deep down.