"It's hard being a grown up," he said.
He was sitting on the couch, slouching and looking more like a kid than his almost 40 year old self.
It was good to hear him say that, because he makes it look so easy.
I had to grow up first. At 22 I had a choice. Be a child raising a child, or separate that part of me altogether.
Even now, as my children play, and the puppy nips at my feet. Even now as the responsibility piles up and weighs me down... I don't pay attention to the child I used to be. I just do what I have to do.
So I suppose it's better, the way he's done it. Bit by bit. Letting pieces of him go each year. Not like me, I just threw it all up in one day.
And so I'm not attached. There's a part of me that doesn't even believe this is my life. That I'll wake tomorrow in my mother's bed, and curl next to her warm body...only my toes won't reach hers. I'm too little to be tall yet.
It's night and I have a fever. This whole life has been a fever dream. She's got Vick's and a tall glass of ice cold juice.
"Shhh," she says, "Mommy's here."
Only she's not here, and I'm the mommy.
It's hard being a grown up. Harder still when you have one foot squarely in your past.