After the bus pulled away with our precious 9-year-old cargo, I walked through the kitchen and noticed her crumpled napkin and dirty socks by her place at the table. The socks are a bad habit she’s gotten into lately, and the napkin a sign of her rush out the door.
My mind moved quickly from exasperation to delight: these soiled items are evidence of my dear child. They mean that she was there.
After the loss of our dear grandmother earlier this year, and the freak accident that claimed the life of actress Natasha Richardson last week, I am deeply aware of how fragile we are. So, rather than fighting the mess, I’ll embrace it instead. And, in the interest of teaching responsibility for oneself, I’ll live with these little reminders in place all day, so that she’ll have the opportunity to take care of them herself when the bus returns her safely home.
Dear Reader, please comment.