Silence

"Have a nice vacation" she said when she dropped me off at my ex's house, where I'd parked the car. I knew she meant it sincerely. She's one of my oldest friends, and we share the companionship of two women who have been through a lot together.

But she is still married, and I am not -- and I have kids, and she does not.

We'd gone to Connecticut for the weekend -- driving up along the New York border and through the lovely towns that sit along the road to Southbury. We'd hiked, eaten in nice restaurants, driven down to Clinton to pick up fried clams and take a long walk along the beach.

It was wonderful to see the white clapboard homes, cupolas and churches that are so much a part of my childhood memories -- but it was also a weekend planned to escape the emptiness of a house full of absence. In a summer already replete with transitions, I experience what it will be like when they have their own lives, and I need to reconfigure mine.

As I drove home, the skies became threatening. I turned on news radio. Crazy weather is predicted for tonight, one local reporter said with what I can only consider sadistic happiness. Eight people killed in New York State on the Taconic, four children.

I tried to imagine that, and, thankfully, could not. Instead, I will pray.

The two cats greet me at the door. Soon the younger one is lying asleep on my bed, satisfied that I'm not abandoning him...at least for now. Cats live in the now. People, and maybe whales and elephants, wonder what the future holds.

This mother aches and wonders how she will fill her days, normally so busy and rich, until the ones she loves are sleeping in their own beds again.

Vacation?

I could have tried to explain. Instead, I smiled, and hugged her, and sent her home to her husband, who was waiting with dinner.