I just took my daughter Lindsay, her husband, Kelly, and my adored grandson Lachlan to the train.  After almost a

In my big bathtub

Bubble bath is good fun

month of being grandma day in and day out, the boy I love the most left to go home to Minnesota.  He leaves a big hole.  It is a hole made bigger by the death of my mother exactly one week before Lach came home with me following her memorial service.  Now there is quiet in my house.  Now there is time for me to think.  Now there is time for me to mourn.

Lachlan went to day camp the first two weeks he was here.  He got his face painted.  He got to play with new friends and one friend he's known for four years.  The weather in northern California was perfect--foggy in the morning and then blazing sun by noon.  He took over my iPad in the evenings and mornings before camp.  He played tennis with Grampa, and I took him to a Vietnamese restaurant we both love.  We went to the library and the pool.  His Auntie Blake and her friend Jennifer wanted to entertain him as much as I did and, for a while, we struggled like dogs over a piece of meat.  (Sorry for such an un-kid friendly analogy.)

While Lachlan was here our erstwhile contractor painted our living room and plastered, sanded and painted its ceiling.  Lachlan asked, fairly I think, "Grandma, why did you decide to paint your house while I was here?"  I hadn't planned it.  It just happened.  More chaos kept me from my feelings.

Now there is quiet in my house.  I want to feel my feelings.  I don't want to feel my feelings.  I want to give them space.  I want to crowd each day with things I love to do.  Perhaps I will find that my own mourning for Lachlan's leaving and mom's death will have its way with me, whether I plan it or not.  For now, all I know is that the quiet is oppressive.