I've only got moments to write. Only moments left of 2013, the year which will, from here and now until forever, be remembered as the year without my son.
Except tonight, the last day of this full and busy and peaceful and crazy and heart wrenching year without my son, I'm actually not without him at all.
He's in the adjoining hotel room playing UNO.
Nap time, right now, these few stolen moments in which I can write. Playing chaperone to those little people that desperately need sleep, especially after the craziness of yesterday, when we picked their big brother up from his school and drove up and down through winding roads, cows on each side. There was a long hike deep into a mountain cave, and then shows and rides and magical train rides in a make-believe night of shining lights. Yes, nap time was needed.
And here I lie on the first queen bed, hearing the deep, even breathing of two, and futilely hoping the toddler will join them. Last night, I remember, I was lying in this same bed. Lying here, listening.
Last night, I could hear my oldest son's even breathing, too. A new, almost man-like breathe of sound sleep, intermingled with the sleep-sounds of all the people I love the most strewn about the beds and floor of a single hotel room.
It was heavenly.
2013, you've come full circle. You, the year without my son, will tonight give birth to the year that will (hopefully) bring my son home. I'm ready for you, 2014. For whatever it is you hold. God lead the way.