Ripping Off That Band-Aid

My son surprised us with a visit this weekend. He arrived Friday morning and left yesterday. As always, it was a whirlwind. I've noticed that these visits start to follow a pattern.

When Mac first arrives, our whole routine is thrown out of whack. We spend all our time trying to socialize with him. We treat him like a visitor. Then as the first day passes, we fall back into our normal routines: Mac is back in his room, we make dinner for four and he takes his old seat at the table, and we resume living as the complete family that we were when he was still living at home.

And then he leaves.

We feel his absence immediately. His seat at the table now seems empty. We'd gotten used to him being there and are very aware that he is gone. It's like ripping a band-aid off again and again. Our skin is getting a little tougher; we don't cry when he leaves. But we feel it. A part of our family is missing, just when we'd gotten a taste of how full our family used to be.