*types. backspaces. types. backspaces. stalls.*
The keys are a little rusty, me thinks.
You are the one who is, me shouts back.
I vividly remember 2013. It was my bookmark, you know – end of Book 1, beginning of Book 2. Before and after. Turning point in my life.
One of those events in 2013 was my son entering high school and moving away from us to live in a dorm. My little boy, all 12 years of him, alone.
Now, he enters his last year of high school and I get nostalgic remembering all the growing up we had to do the past five years.
All of us.
It’s like those five years I have been waiting to exhale.
And now I can. Well, I can see the end, but we are not at the end yet. But the exhale is starting.
She is starting sixth grade. And the overwhelm, uncertainty and exciting possibility for her is the same as her brother’s, five years ago.
He is starting 12th grade.
He is going to Singapore for a leadership summit, a free experience from his school.
He is running, and training, and working hard.
I’m here, one month post-operation, on seclusion by choice and that self-imposed exile was good for me. Challenging, scary and really, really, dark – but facing my demons has been on my to-do list for the longest time. It took a scare to force me to do that, but I am here.
And I am writing again.
These times are like the waiting times. I feel like I’m standing on the bleachers, about to witness a bookmark moment of my life again, but this time, I am not surprised.
I am eagerly waiting. Cheering.
Bring it on.
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