look at the sun
HIs voice barely carried from the bathroom upstairs to the living room where I was writing. “Mom,” he called.
I almost didn’t hear him.
“Mom,” he called again.
I kept stacking words until it registered that he was calling. It has been many years since someone has called “Mom” from upstairs.
“Are you calling me?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Look at the sun.”
I went outside and stood on the deck, facing west.
“Isn’t it awesome?” he asked, his voice ringing clear. I turned and looked up at the open bathroom window. “I saw it when I got out of the shower.”
“It’s nice,” I said.
“I thought you’d like it,” he said. The window closed. The silence wrapped around me.
Andy always notices the sun. He’s known for sending messages on the family thread so we don’t miss the sunrise. He calls us outside at night to watch the sunset.
I always thought it annoyed Jay. He’s busy at night, with just a few moments to call his own after practice and dinner and homework and shower.
Tonight we were home alone, just the two of us. I stood on the deck, watching the colors swirl and the day close. Moments like this make me happy that I still cling to the discipline of an unhurried life.
He noticed the sun.
I closed my eyes and imagine that he is rushing to get to the couch and video games. Still, he noticed the sun.
The door opens and he stands next to me. “I’m glad we didn’t miss the sunset tonight,” he said.
“Me too,” I say.
He’s not the kind to gush.
But he noticed the sun.
And he wanted me to notice it, too.
I’m not sure there’s a stronger way for him to communicate, “I love you,” than standing next to me watching the sun set.
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