It’s taken quite a few months to adjust to living without M home all the time, but I have begun to make peace with parts of our daily routine. Luckily, my mind has developed some tricks and rituals to make me feel closer to him.
The minute my alarm sounds, I pray. If I fall back to sleep, that’s okay because I have my 10-minute snooze alarm to get me going again. B has made coffee, so I grab a cup and check on K. At 10 years old, his cheeks are still smooth and soft – so I kiss them.
(I wasn’t prepared for M’s soft, rosy, baby cheeks to change. Actually, I wasn’t prepared for most of the changes. The summer I noticed that the soft skin and smooth, little hair on his shins had been replaced, was probably the summer that my job description began to change.)
After I walk out of K’s room, my tip-toe steps take me to the den. (This next stage of my morning ritual could be considered one of the many tricks my mind plays, but I prefer to see it as just a sweet morning treat.)
Through the dark, I easily navigate around the ottoman and stop at the book shelves below the shutters. I pull open those wooden shutters, and…there it is. The moon. Somehow, the moon has become a close friend of mine ever since M left.
I think it’s something I’ve read about before – loved ones being far away from each other – but that very same moon greets each of them in the morning and sends them off to bed at night. I like to think that most mornings, he notices the moon too.
There’s a chance he does. And that’s how I get to say, “Good morning, honey. Have a good day. Love you.”
And so, another day begins.