Thump, Thump, Thump

I'm home alone again this morning. Only the dogs and fish keep me company. It's nothing like when the boys were at home.

Saturday morning. We finish breakfast and chores. The phone rings in the kitchen and my son answers it.

At just over 6 ft. tall, he towers over me and I feel as though he takes up all the air in my space. He hasn't yet learned to control his arms and elbows, or his feet, except when he holds a basketball. This Saturday is typical. He talks on the phone, the 25 foot cord stretched to the limit. He paces as he talks, holding the phone in one hand and dribbling the basketball with the other.

He and his friends are making plans for that evening. One after the other, they call him. He calls one back, then someone else. Hours are spent this way. I cringe at the thump, thump, thump of the ball. Then I smile as I hear his laughter.

Suddenly it's quiet, but only for a moment. He heads to his room, turns on the radio and then goes to shower. Emerging later in jeans, t-shirt and sneakers, he once again picks up the phone and his basketball. The insistent thumping in the kitchen and hall tells me he is is finalizing plans with the group. After a final thump, he drops the ball into the chair. He come to find me and tells me where he'll be and when to expect him home.

He pauses by the door to check his hair one more time. The fragrance of his aftershave drifts behind him and lingers even after he waves and calls out a cheery "See ya later!"

Quiet. Silence fills the empty house. I pick up a book and settle in for the evening. This night I'm glad for the peace, but I am aware that soon, probably sooner than I can imagine, the continual thumping will cease at my house. The phone will ring less often and the laughter of teen-age boys will be absent from my home.

I miss them already.