I imagined turning 60 would feel warm, with a full table and familiar voices around me. Instead, the house remained painfully quiet, the food grew cold, and every passing minute made the empty chairs seem even louder. When the knock finally came, it didn’t sound like family at all. I waited four hours for my six children to arrive for my 60th birthday. Four hours is a long time to remain alone in a silent house with seven place settings and a stomach filled with hope.
When I married their father, he used to say he wanted a big family.
“A loud house,” he’d laugh. “A table that’s never empty.”
We had six children in 10 years. Mark. Jason. Caleb. Grant. Sarah. Eliza.
Four boys, two girls, and enough noise to make the walls shake.
