“I’m beginning…again,” Sylvia laments.

Erma, ever the mom, scolds her friend, “Grow up, my friend. If they can do it, you can, too.”

There is quite a bit in this life that makes me cry. Yep, I’m a crier. Tears flow when I’m angry, when I’m sad, when I’m disappointed, and even when I’m overcome with joy (especially when I’m bowled over by something seemingly irrelevant). Forty-eight full hours of doing nothing but enjoying their company; listening to them laugh while watching replays of Veep; and being the doting and maybe even mildly overbearing mom.

I’m driving away now, and I’m smiling and sobbing all at once. They are delighted and happily-at-home in their own place, navigating life as they wish, and making this mixed-up world of ours –of mine – make sense at the moment. I’ve done a lot wrong, but this, this is indeed my legacy. In this moment, I don’t give a f#@* where I live, what I have in the bank, who hates me or loves me. I’m not writing for followers. I’m not editing a Goddamn piece of these last forty-eight hours. It’s all just perfect.

THEY have grown-up. Now, it’s my turn.

*******