The grandchildren had taped a sign above my new Arizona bedroom.
WELCOME HOME GRANDMA.
Those things had happened too.
Maybe the most painful truth was that love could be genuine and still become careless.
That night, after Linda left, I sat alone on the balcony.
The city below glowed in warm pools of light.
Music drifted faintly from a restaurant.
Someone laughed in the courtyard.
I expected loneliness.
Instead, I felt tired.
Wonderfully, peacefully tired.
No lunches to pack.
No laundry waiting.
No one asking what was for dinner.
At ten fifteen, I made tea and opened my laptop.
There was an email from Daniel.
The subject line read:
YOU’RE NOT ANSWERING.
My heart jumped.
I opened it.
Mom,
We’ve called several times. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you’re probably angry, but please don’t turn this into something bigger than it is.
The kids are having a great time.
We’ll talk when we get back.
Love,
Daniel
I stared at the second paragraph.
Please don’t turn this into something bigger than it is.
For years, I had used almost the same sentence on myself.
Don’t make trouble.
Don’t take it personally.
They’re busy.
Families make compromises.
I closed the laptop.
I did not reply.
The next morning, I woke at six out of habit.
My body waited for footsteps overhead.
There were none.
I waited for the sound of a bedroom door opening.
