* a whisper within says that something is missing
After soaking in this sight, I head back to my own station where I have been camped at for a decent chunk of time this morning, and get back to working on typing up meeting minutes. It's not far from being finished as my empty coffee cups beckons for a refill.
* and still something is missing
As I enter the kitchen, which yes looks a little like a disaster zone since it is Pancake Saturday, a thought enters my mind... "where is he again? Did we let him have a sleep over? It's just so quiet here right now, it just feels like something is missing?" My heart and my mind have a battle, be it ever so briefly, and it's not too long before the truth and the logic scramble to the forefront of my brain and shout out in words so piercing and so painful they nearly bring me to my knees.... "Oliver is dead, remember"
* something IS missing
It's hard to explain, but every so often, there are these little moments in time where I automatically place my son into the picture. He should have been fighting his sisters at the door this morning for a piece of Dadda's leg. He should have been pouring maple syrup all over his own pancakes while his sisters watch and giggle at his bed hair and his lack of finesse. He should have been wanting my attention whilst I was working, or arguing over who's turn it is to wash up after breakfast, or offering to make me a cuppa as any six year old would do.
Yes, something is missing.
Oliver, you are missing from this family and our crazy daily antics. But you are always here too.