Stacie Sherman

I pull my car in my driveway and put it in park. As I open the door to get out, a safety bell dings and a warning message flashes, telling me to make sure I don’t leave my kid behind. It’s a bittersweet reminder that my backseat is empty.

One week down, two to go. There’s a dull ache in my stomach, it feels like a part of my body is not with me.

It’s strange to look in the backseat and not see Bree there. It’s weird to not get at least a phone call or two from school, telling me about a scratch or a cold or a meltdown. It’s strange to sleep through the night, to wake up a little later, to come home from work to a quiet house, to walk by her empty bedroom.

And still, it’s kind of nice not to have to rush out of work at 4. It was great to meet my husband after work one night in Princeton for dinner and a stroll. To meet our friends for a drink one night, and to sit with other friends outside another night around our fire pit. To watch a movie from beginning to end. To go for a walk early this morning along the canal.

I have spoken to camp twice so far and just left another message. They say she has had a few meltdowns here and there, but has been sleeping and eating well and is mostly happy. I hate that I have to take their word for it. I hate that I can’t hear her voice.

Does she know where she is? Does she wonder where I am and when she is going home? Is she mad at me for leaving her there? Or is she happy to get a break from me?

I asked for camp to send me a photo of her so I could see that smiling face. I guess this one was supposed to suffice lol .

This past week I still had my son with me, but he left Friday to go on vacation with his father. I will miss him just as much but it is different because I can talk to him on the phone. Because he doesn’t need me like she does.

This week I’m working at my company’s headquarters in Manhattan, something I’m encouraged to do but I’m not often able to do, for obvious reasons. That should tire me out enough and make the week fly.

It’s raining now as my husband and I head out to a party. His hand is on my knee as he drives and I type away, his Peter Frampton on the radio. I know this time together is good for me, for him, for us. I have been an emotional handful lately. He is a saint, my rock.

Time for me to get off my phone. Back soon.

And just as I went to get off my phone, it rang, with the camp returning my call. Bree has been mostly happy, some aggression here and there, but nothing they can’t manage. Sleeping well, swimming lots.

Back to adult-ing.