Kendall missed her brother already. (We had moved him into his college dorm that morning.) Upon arriving home from a last-minute school shopping trip Monday night, she lamented,
"Aw, shoot! I wanted to show Kyle my new shoes, but then I remembered he's not home!"
I replied, "Well, Kendall, he would probably have said, 'Kendall, I really don't give a crap about your new shoes,' anyway."
"I know that, she consented. "But I still would have shown them to him anyway. I always tell him about my day. I know he doesn't care, but I just wish he was here to say he doesn't care."
I couldn't argue with that.
Another trip we took that night was to the grocery store. Over and over, I reached for (and then returned to the shelves) items I would normally keep on hand at home for Kyle. It bummed me out a little, but then I remembered that there are millions of moms out there (Weaselmomma, Molly, Wendy, Hallie, to name a handful) who go through the same experience every single time they are in a store. The big difference is that they are grieving children they will never see, hear, hold, or talk to again.
When I think about it that way, I can feel nothing but joy for my son, the new college freshman.