I'm not doing well, thank you for asking. I do seem barely here, I know.
I will tell you why: I miss my son. Keenly.
I miss his noises: his loud electric guitar playing and his unintentional slamming of the basement door. I miss seeing the lump of his shape under the duvet when I peek in his room last thing before going to bed. I miss the way he always manages to splash the bathroom floor when he takes a shower. I miss how his face crinkles up when he laughs so hard he's helpless to stop. I miss the sound of that laughter. I miss his shaggy head on my shoulder when we watch TV.
Tomorrow camp ends. My boy will return. And so will I.