When your kids grow up

 

The house is quieter.

Bigger and emptier.

A little darker too.

 

Walls that contained joy, bickering, tears

Sit idly.

Saturated with silence.

 

And the stuffed animals are alone.

No longer reporting for duty.

Unhugged.

 

When your kids grow up

 

You miss all the work.

The bedtime stories and songs.

Even the fatigue.

 

And you’d give anything.

To hear those giggles and cries again

In real time.

 

You long for the days

When this place, and you

Were the centre of their world.

—Peter.