They will come back.


And from not far away.

Maybe from the loft, the small farm in the Gorge, the cottage just south of here. A mama can dream.

She’ll be wearing her hair slightly differently than the last time. She’ll tilt her head just so to keep her fedora on. She’ll smile in that way that is just so her. They’ll be coming home. Maybe solo, maybe with the man who looks at her the way we’ve always hoped (seeing and treasuring, you know), maybe with a tribe of little people.

They’ll come home, and it might be here, but probably to another four walls. The dog might rush to greet them, and we sure will.

Their papa will kiss cheeks and hug, I’ll take hands in mine.

They can dance here and act crazy, they can let it all hang out. Maybe we’ll duke it out over world events. Maybe we’ll snuggle under the covers, or the grandkids might check the cookie jar for something fresh baked. Maybe we’ll talk “cherries and pits” over dinner like we used to.

We might cry. I’m pretty sure I will.

Someday home will be the place they visit, and we are practicing for that. Making this always a place they’ll want to return. Being the people who know them — really know them — and see them as they are, delight in who they’re becoming.

I can almost see it now.

Joining with Lisa-Jo Baker and the brave, free-writing tribe of Five Minute Friday. Join us? Today’s prompt: VISIT.

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