I grew up in a house full.
At our full capacity we were ten.
Eight kids and two parents.
I think we tried having a pet once. That was short lived. Not the pet. The idea that having a pet was a good idea. That’s what was short lived.
To this day, many years later, it is still a very odd feeling to find myself all alone in a house. I still wonder where everyone is. I still have an urge to comment out loud on something I’m watching or reading. I still make sure I am covered from head to toe because you can’t make a mad dash from one room to the next if you forgot something while you’re getting ready to shower. You never know who you might bump in to. That could be awkward. I still want to buy in huge quantities. And to this day I cannot cook for one or two only.
I still find it disconcerting and a little perplexing when I have that alone time. And a little nostalgic. I can’t have a night alone without going back in time and remembering the house with the constant noise of multiple human beings sharing the same space. You know what noise I’m talking about. Breathing multiplied times ten. Chewing multiplied by ten. Toilets flushing. Showers running. Steps up. And steps down. Voices talking, voices crying, voices whining, voices fighting, voices laughing.
And though I miss that tremendously, I also remember….
How desperately I wished for one moment of peace.
And then I sit back.
Smile with the memories.
And embrace this moment of silence.
Tipping my hat to the child who craved it.