Time slips through my fingers like sand. No matter how hard I try to keep it in my cupped hand, it always slips through. My son is home so rarely, and I sometimes just stare at him.. watching him and committing to memory the shape of his face and his sweet head.
He’s deploying soon. Some corner of the world will be blessed for his presence. I know he’s a grown man, but I still worry. What if he needs me? How am I supposed to get to him? Such questions that wake me up at 3am.
Joy in the Journey 