Early Morning

I got up earlier than usual this morning. The Quiet Husband was in the shower, and the dog jumped off the bed and began to roll around on the rug. Realizing that she wasn't going to be able to last until he was ready to leave for work, I sighed and got out of bed. We went downstairs and I opened the back door for her, then went into the downstairs bathroom to take care of my own needs before letting her back in.

Sun streamed through the kitchen windows and I thought about the many mornings I had gotten up, come downstairs after my own very early shower to let a different dog out, and started making lunches. Peanut butter sandwiches, goldfish crackers, fruit roll-ups, pudding packages, juice boxes. Then I would awaken my three little blond children and focus on clothes, breakfasts, backpacks, and coats and hats and mittens. Feed the dog, the cat, the guinea pig, the parakeets. Grab anything that needed to be taken care of in the way of errands after dropping the kids off. Completely routine mornings; I haven't thought about them in years. Load the kids into the car, make sure everyone is buckled in. Drive off to Montessori school.

For the last couple of years, with the kids all off in college, the suddenly quiet house, pretty worn and dilapidated after two decades of sheltering an active and intense family, nevertheless shined with potential. I wasn't sure whether that meant potential for a new young family or for us in a new state of life, but I thought that it would open up to new colors, new spaces and, someday, small bodies whirling around once again.

Now, midmorning, I sit in my living room. Sunlight dapples the couch, where the dog is once again sound asleep.

It seems so utterly empty here.