It seems like I’m perpetually waiting for Charlie.
As I take a shower in the morning, I’m waiting to hear the thump on the floor as he slides off his tall bed and onto his stool. I’m waiting to hear his heavy feet plodding towards the bathroom door and then kicking the door open. I’m waiting for him to throw the shower door open and ask to take a tubby with me.
While at work, I wait for his phone call to remind me how much he loves me and what he’s eating for lunch. (Probably hot dogs. True story: We once split a package of hot dogs for lunch. We each had four.) I’m waiting for Charlie to ask me if I can take him for a bike ride when I get home.
When I get off the train, I’m waiting to hear him yell for me across the tracks. I’m waiting for him to remind me that I promised to take him for a bike ride.
When I take a shower with Char at the end of the day, I’m waiting for Charlie to tell me to sit down with him b/c, “I don’t want you to slip and fall Daddy.” (He was very concerned about my safety.)
After I put him to bed, I’m waiting for him to sneak back downstairs as Vanessa takes a shower to spend a few more minutes curling up with me on the couch.
I’m waiting for the day when these thoughts don’t consume every second of my life. And I’m dreading the day when they don’t.