“How long?”
“Well, lets see, you’re five, so in about twelve or thirteen years you’ll go to college.”
“I don’t want to go! You can’t make me! I want to live here with Youuuuu!” The last word comes out between sobs.
My husband seems utterly confused. I try to help.
“Honey, that’s not thirteen days—it’s a long, long time,” I say.
“How many days then.”
“Okay, there are 365 days in a year, multiplied by twelve years, that’s what?” I look to my husband, and we both shrug wishing we had a calculator.
“Over a thousand million?” asks William, brushing a tear from his face.
“Yes, something like that,” I reply.
He then reaches up and hugs me tight.
It occurred to me then, that this is the moment I need to cherish. I need to bottle it up in techno color and pull it out twelve or thirteen years from now to console myself. Surely, when William is seventeen and getting out of the car on the college campus of his choosing, I can’t expect this kind of emotion from him. The tables will likely be turned. I will be the one with tears streaming down my face. I will be the one trying to talk between sobs. He, as most teenagers are likely to do, will act like his mom is crazy and give me a brief hug before walking away.
William pulls back from our hug, gives me a kiss and says, “I’m staying right here with you!”
And I give him another kiss and say, “Yes you are.”
As I turn out the light I think, for now.
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