Ethan’s been going to Atlanta lately—to visit his girlfriend.
He never tells us directly, but we always find out.
His mom gets upset. And I get it.
So I wrote him a message.
Not angry. Just honest.
Told him we miss him.
That it hurts sometimes when he’s nearby but doesn’t make time to visit.
That four hours isn’t much—by car, by flight, by bus.
But it feels like more when the silence stretches.
He didn’t say much in return.
But a few days later, he mentioned coming down this summer.
Said he’d stay a week.
And that’s something.
This age—early twenties—it’s a strange in-between.
They’re free but still figuring things out.
Still tethered, even as they test the distance.
So we’ll take the week.
We’ll make the meals and sit around the table.
And maybe that’s how we stay close—one quiet visit at a time.
