The Nest Slowly Empties

"I Miss His Voice"

I miss his voice and sharing ideas about writing - the major theme: Truth. Calling once a week to share my most recent paper, poem, or prose. Sharing my triumphs and asking for his advice were the highlights of my week. Then his voice was stolen by the cancer. Just to be near him, I drove twelve hours every four to five weeks. He still had words to share with me - I would read and weep - looking up every few lines to see the tears in his eyes. And then we would sit in silence - drifting off to sleep. He would clasp my hand and rest our hands on my knee - squeezing my fingers as mine wrapped around his. Then one day the words stopped forever - I still pick up his unfinished allegory - just so that I can hear his voice once more. The last time we spoke was so long ago.

"His Easiness"

It had been six weeks since his last visit. But that was Christmas. He was coming down to see me. To play games with me. He always leaves Sacramento and drives south after getting off work - waking me at 2:00 a.m. when he arrives - like he did the day he was born. I have been told by others that his presence is calming and peaceful. I agree. There is an easiness about him. His visits are short - but always filled with adventures. A day smiting demons and monsters - A day riding coasters and eating burgers and ice cream - A day painting landscapes. Then he packs quietly and kisses me softly on the forehead before he walks out the door to drive north to Sacramento and his future bride.

"My Baby Girl"

My baby girl called last month to say that she was coming home to celebrate my birthday. We made plans. Victor worked half a day on his 56th birthday - the day she was flying into LAX. We didn't have to pick her up. She called when they were coming down the grade and invited us to join her and Jacob at Topper's for pizza and conversation. Excited, I dressed, did my hair, and makeup - prodding Victor to hurry up. The five-minute drive felt like an eternity. When my baby girl burst through the doors and wrapped her arms around me - I was home.