The boys are gone now.

The house just sighs.

The loudest sound here is the AC unit.

No extra toilet flushes.

No absurdly long showers.

No muffled cell phone conversations. Coming through the upstairs floorboards.

No hum of the 3D printer going night and day.

No one jumping down the stairs.

No raucous behavior over the play station, or the last snack pack, or whose turn it is to take the trashcans up the hill.

The washing machine stands empty and still. It never used to do that unless we were on vacation.

The bedrooms are clean—too clean. I can’t smell them anymore. And that breaks my heart.

Oh! There’s a ding.

Could it be?

It is! A text, it’s a text!

One line. A few words.

Proof of Life.

Clinging to that thread, I start Life360 stalking—again.

I’m addicted to my children.

My life’s work.

Learning how to be me again is going to take some time. I was 28 when the first one was born. I barely knew myself then.

I’m the same person with an older body. Still mouthy. Still feisty. Still awkward. But parts of me are not the same and never will be again.

I got a part-time job. It’s so fun and exhausting.

I’m writing a children’s book. It’s not going be the next “Goodnight Moon,” but it’s not a vanity project.

I started singing again.

All the things that make me, me.

And yet—-

I miss the daily grind that almost broke me.

The endless grocery store runs.

The trying to help, but never getting anything right.

The homework fights and late nights.

The ear aches, tummy aches, sore throats, stuffy noses, anxious moments.

The driving, oh, the driving. So many trips up and down this mountain I live on.

Ping! Again? An answer to my question I so ill-advisedly asked. Two words, but that’s manna.

It’s only been a week and I want it all back.

I loved my life. And I know I will make a new life. I know the best is yet to come. I know I did my job. And I am so thankful my boys are capable of moving on. I would never want to hold them back.

But it’s too quiet.

Oh so quiet.

Deafening.

I miss my boys.