One Cup of Coffee

"When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they're not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They're upset because they've gone from supervisor of a child's life to a spectator. It's like being the vice president of the United States." - Erma Bombeck

Since Jacob came home from school last April, my morning ritual has been the same. Get up, make coffee for the two of us, pour myself a cup, read the paper and wait for him to get up before I serve his coffee to him. This morning, I made one cup. I dropped him off in Guelph yesterday afternoon. The car was full to bursting. When I got home, the house was cavernously empty. At least we had the distraction of a dinner party hosted by Nancy and Aivars to celebrate the birthday of my friend Maurice. Maurice had been clear that he didn't want birthday gifts but I was struggling with that so in the small hours of Friday morning when I was still awake, I decided to make him some treats. By 6:00 A.M. I was baking brownies. By 7:30 A.M., I had a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. When I returned from Guelph, I made a tin of peanut butter caramel corn. It was yummy.

By the time we got home from dinner, I was beat. I fell into bed at barely 11:00 P.M., a rarity for me. At 6:30, I woke up with a start. The house is so quiet. It's not that Jacob normally makes noise at that hour of the day, but somehow the silence this morning was deafening.