Second, the last of the fledglings have flown. Nobody will live here again except for my husband and me. Things will change.We’ll use the space in the house differently – new office for him, new work out place for me.The laundry room, free of overflow clothes will be spacious enough for me to turn around without moving the ironing board.
During those stretches when he’s assigned, I will spend more time on my novel.
We will follow through on all that we hoped would happen when we became this – us again. Over weekend breakfasts that he prepares now, we’ll plan our future of opening nights at Symphony Hall, and visits to kids in the near or faraway places where they will be filling their own nests.
In our neater, quieter life, I expect I will notice how much has changed. I will think about how, after twenty-seven years of everything that happened, and everything that didn’t, of long distance marriage and independence and individual growth, we are still climbing the same front steps together. I will explain observations like this, and probably compare our relationship to weather, or pool toys or paths in the woods, and if he thinks I’m tedious, he will be too gracious to say so.
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