The plight of a mother facing an empty nest.
Phone calls and text messages one upon the other. Only two callers: son two and son three. Messages from these two still living at home are a constant onslaught. Like the cigarettes of a chain smoker, lighting a new smoke from the burning butt of the one before.
The inevitable call at the end of one activity asking or anouncing the next, often without darkening the door of our home in between.
Summer has arrived. School has ended and with it the demands of activities such as drama and swimming. But now without the structure of school the next morning there remains no compelling argument for them to come home early or to sleep at home.
One son gone already, so long gone. Just a year more with the next and three more with the youngest. The time is so precious. But my time with them burns up in smoke as one cigarette lights another.