come away with me.

Here's what will happen:

You will come home. Dad will be washing dishes. Sinatra will be playing, or some big band. The door will open and the kids will run forward, yelling mom, surrounding you until you drop your bags. You will not be tired. You will laugh. Dad will say, we missed you. You will hug him. You will have a treat for him, a small gift for all of us. Dad will have made spaghetti. There will be a plate set for you and your noodles won't be cold. We will all sit on the couch by you as you tell us about your trip. Dad will look at you like he has the world and you will return his gaze. Maybe that evening, we will watch a movie. How about that? We will have icecream from the freezer and we will each have a large bowl. Maybe you will ask for seconds. Dad will make bacon cheese potato skins and we will each get two. We will watch Lord of the Rings, because we only watched it with you once, mom. We will watch the third one, out of order for you, because we know how much you like the scene where they light the beacons. You remember that? Of course you do. Once when you were gone, we watched The Return of the King in Chloe and my room with grandpa, grandma, Laura, and Dad. We put it on the projector and it lit up the wall with Gondor. When we got to that scene, dad mentioned how much you loved it. I got chills and that dim space felt like heaven. I haven't forgotten, you know. We will watch that movie and you will sit by dad and when it gets to the part with Shelob, you will cover your face with a pillow and he will tell you when it's over.

Okay? That's not so much to ask, is it?

God, momma, I miss you.