I’ve known for weeks — months — 18 years! This was in the job description! Everything’s been leading to this moment. Most of the time, the launch seemed so distant and remote I didn’t give it a second thought.
Take each moment as it comes Gail.
We’ll have packed the car the night before— clothes, coffee maker, notebooks, pens, pencils. We’ll soon lug it all into the tiny dormitory room. Will he be impatient for us to leave?
At the stove, tears will threaten like looming black clouds.
I’ll brush coconut oil on the cast iron skillet surface before pouring pancake batter in neat circles. Crisp, thick bacon slices won’t stand a chance of making it into the refrigerator as a leftover.
“Breakfast is ready!” I’ll call.
It’ll be months before I hear his heavy thumps on the stairs again.
Why not celebrate?
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.