Something about my husband being absent brings out the cleaner/organizer in both me and my son. He's been cleaning out his books, and asked for my help making decisions about the massive collection I had amassed for him.
The experience was fraught with symbolism. So many books that I l had loved, and thought my child might love. And that I have to recognize now he has no interest in, and likely never will.
The floor of my office is now covered with my out-grown dreams.
Yet another reminder that no matter our similarities, he is himself.