Time by Time
"Come see me Mommy,
time by time"
she would whisper around her little thumb
as I walked to the door
and turned out the light.
Just four years old
and a little nervous about being left alone at night,
still, she let me go without tears or protest
because we had an agreement.
She knew that in a few minutes
I would slip back in the room
to stroke her hair
and whisper reassuring words in the dark.
And I would keep coming in,
time by time,
until she fell asleep,
secure in the knowledge that even when I was gone
I was never far away.
Today I took her to college.
I loaded up her computer and her bedspread,
her books and posters, T-shirts and funky hats
and drove her to another town
where I left her.
Then, as if it were just another day,
I drove home without her.
I stand now at the door to her room,
my eyes lingering on the scattered belongings,
mostly remnants of her vanished childhood
that she left behind today.
They, like me, are waiting
for her to return.
She’s not that far away.
And I know she’ll be home fairly often
at first,
for birthdays and vacations,
to visit old friends and load up on cookies.
but soon new friends,
summer jobs and study abroad
will become her priorities
and those visits will become fewer and farther between
until this home
isn’t her home
any longer.
"Come and see me baby"
I whisper as I turn off the light,
"Time by time".
Tracy Meisky is a poet, writer, singer, songwriter and all-around boat rocker from way back. Feel free to look around, but if you break it, you bought it.
OK, you made me cry now. I still go into Eric’s room and talk to him like he is the little boy who was there just a short time ago. I love your writing, and I can feel your pain and your love all at the same time.