They were moving further out from under my wing, and I felt proud of them at the same time that I had a primal urge to swallow them whole, absorb them right back into my body.Īs I sliced cabbage into ribbons for slaw, Dad told me about my mother’s garden project and a sci-fi movie he wanted to go see. As their lives grew busier with each passing year, I saw less and less of them.
We were in the phase of life where our children were beginning to turn into adults, time ticking by as one teenager prepared to leave the nest after the other. I was making lunch in my kitchen for myself, my husband, and our adolescent son and daughter.
I had a revelation along these lines after a phone call from my father on a Saturday afternoon a few years ago. This article was adapted from Mary Laura Philpott’s book Bomb Shelter(Atria Books)
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