His cheeks were chubby and his eyes deep blue. I’d see a mirror-image of him strapped in his car seat, talking, laughing or fussing as we headed south down the highway. He had mother’s morning out. I had work. We carpooled.
The years went by and the schools changed. The chubby cheeks disappeared but the blue-eyes remained. We’d hit the morning carpool five days a week. It was our ten minutes: Ten minutes when I could ask him about his world. They were the most precious ten minutes of my day.
Eventually his brother joined in on the fun and I’d see two similar but different faces in my mirror. Faces of individual boys with the eyes of their mother. I’d listen in on their conversations as we made the short trek from home to school. I watched their faces slim even more as they turned from little boys to pre-teens.
This morning, the mirror was empty. My oldest is now in middle school and his brother is at a new school as well. I have to be at work at 6 a.m. so I can no longer take either of them. An era has ended.
I’ve dreaded this day for years. Today it came. No conversations. No laughter. No fighting. Nothing. Just me and an empty backseat.
My heart was as empty as my mirror.
Take comfort in the fact that you had that time together from the start. Won’t be long and you’ll be looking for that morning text from the high school parking lot: Made it fine!
Sad face :(