I help him pack his things, I assure him that he will have a good time, I dearly hope that he doesn't miss me. But my house is a little quieter in his absence and my days lack the anchor of a child. It feels like a void; a sore spot in my daily existence. I fill the time and keep busy; there are plenty of things I can get done, of course. That I have no choice in this arrangement is also worth noting. I don't like it but I can't change it so I try my level best not to be sucked down into the grief of what-might-have-beens. Instead, I concentrate on being grateful for the fact that he lives with me for the other 50 weeks of the year. The sure knowledge that my house is his home is a comfort.
Still, my house doesn't quite feel like home without the boy in the mix. He returns this morning, and then we head west in a few days. He'll be off for a second week with his other mom in August and I'll face that week when it happens. Today, I'm just glad to have my boy back where he belongs.