Rudy has been at his first away camp. No electronics. No phones. He has written us 2 letters. He left two weeks ago for Durango, CO. Tomorrow morning, we get to pick him up.
I couldn’t have foreseen how I’d miss his voice.
On the eve of our reunion with our only son, I am acutely aware of his nearness to me, yet we have to wait.
Wait to smell his hair.
Wait to hold his hand.
Wait to look into his eyes.
Wait to hold his body.
Wait to hear his voice.
His voice that gently calls out to us in the night for comfort. His voice that proudly boasts of his accomplishments on the playground at school. His voice that surrenders through tears and admits his defeats. His voice that slyly pushes the boundaries of joke telling and tries on new “grown up” words. His voice that shook my very core with its admittance of him “choosing us” before he was ever born. His voice that sang through a weak and sore throat to comfort ME when HE was sick. His voice that challenges his dad to video game duels, then laughs maniacally when he crushes him. His voice that, through an endless stream of kisses, proclaims his unwavering love to me with every. single. greeting hello or goodbye.