March to the Sound of Nones

I got home today and immediately had a sense something was wrong. The sort of sense that something is out of place, or that something imminent was loitering in the air, or, that's it, something is missing. I stood for a moment, and I could hear myself breathing. That was it, I could hear myself breathing. The house was still, somehow even more still than when I awaken at 5:30'ish in the dark hours of the morning. Maybe it was the contrast of coming back home from a hectic day at work as opposed to coming downstairs right after waking up, but it was the most still sensation I have had in a long, long time. Five seconds after closing the door, I knew with complete confidence that Wifey and the children were out of the house running errands, which was perfectly fine. If they were not coming back, that would not be fine.

Having adjusted (more or less) to the daily pace of a young family and the centrifugal struggle of having three children and their energy flowing through our home, this one moment was positively shocking. And, cosmetically, I would expect to treasure any moment of peace. Surprisingly, I missed the energy, I missed the focus, I missed the purpose of having every second balanced on a knife's edge of joy and exhaustion.

The thought of living without children, maybe even combined with retirement down the road, seems like a husk or cruel facade of a life. This is enjoyable, so long as my youthful strength and vigor hold up.