I know they’ll wake up soon. The house is silent, except for the ticking clock. My coffee sits on the table, slowly losing its heat. I haven’t yet opened the shades to welcome in the morning light. I’m soaking up the solitude. But they’ll wake up soon.
They’ll wake up soon, and I will hear their feet scurry across the bedroom floors above. Whoever wakes up first will run into the adjoining bedroom to wake up her sister. As if they can’t begin the day without one another.
They’ll wake up soon, and they will come down the stairs, hand in hand. They just go together like peanut butter and jelly, and they always come down the stairs as one.
They’ll wake up soon, and my first sight of them will bring a smile to my face. I’ll notice their bedhead and their morning eyes, still adjusting from a good night’s sleep. They will carry their beloved stuffed animals, Clifford’s red fur beginning to fade from too many cuddles.
They’ll wake up soon, and they’ll come over for a hug. I’ll wrap my arms around the bundle of pajamas and bedhead and stuffed animals. Even after all this time, I’ll close my eyes and inhale their scent, just like I did when they were babies.
They’ll wake up soon, and I will have to close my computer. The coffee will be cooled, and the shades will be opened. No longer a writer, I’ll be their mom. Maddie and Katie’s mom. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.
They’ll wake up soon, and we will start our day. There will be playing and laughter and arguing and I’m sorries. The day will hurry scurry by in a blur and before we know it, it will be over.
I won’t forget, though. I won’t forget how they came downstairs, hand in hand. I’ll tuck the image and the gratitude inside my heart where I keep a million other pieces of our life.