Empty

Empty nesters they call us. We're supposed to enjoy this time.

No more children filling the house. No more schedules beyond our own.

Instead of freedom, there is silence. You smile at me from across the breakfast table.

Your eyes are smiling, but there's an emptiness behind them.

They are not the same eyes I married. They don't hold the same spark.

You reset your watch to tell you when it's time for your mid-morning nap.

Sticky notes cover our bedroom to remind you where your clothes are.

Rewind five years.

Not a citizen. No license. No purpose. That's what the judge said in his own words.

No jurisdiction. No penance. No punishment.

I still remember the tears blurring my eyes as I saw the defendant across the courtroom.

He had taken my husband and in one second across a center line, had turned him into a shell.

Gone was the man I married. All that was left was a glimpse of my husband.

It took you months to laugh. It took you even longer to say my name the way you once did.

Brain damage the doctor mentioned, over and over again. Patience. Understanding. Sacrifice.

I had no idea how a split second could change our lives forever.

How for better for worse, in sickness and health would be put to the test every single day.

Empty nesters they call us. Free to travel, enjoy, laugh, love. No inhibitions.

And instead, across the table I see your trembling hands and feel my trembling heart.

Some day. . .

Some day I shall get up the courage to share this blog with others besides my husband. . . some day.

The little blue house on Maple Boulevard

     In a little, blue house on Maple Boulevard, I grew up. Maples lined the street, and in the fall the leaves clogged the drains. Countless hours of making salads of whirly-gigs and leaves as big as my face took up my summers, and the asphalt saw many cuts and bruises from learning to use my skates and ride my bike. A little white picket fence bordered the front yard, and I'll never forget the giant Maple tree that took up its area.
     I'll never forget the year the tree came down. Ice storm of the decade, they said, and I remember daddy calling me out to see the magnificent ice fort nature had created just for me and my step brother. It was a beautiful thing to behold, and a child's delight.
     Sometimes I still drive down Maple Boulevard, curious to see how the current tenants have changed it, wondering if my bedroom still has the special treasure hiding spot in the closet floor, or if the yard is as big as I remember it being.