Til He Was Gone

When he was gone, I knew it was really over. Childhood...the slow, beautiful, warm, nostalgic, safe days of my life. Running barefoot through our backyard to his, seeing him getting the garden ready to plant. Him yelling at me to get some shoes on.

Climbing the corral fence to brush the winter hair off the horses, feeling their whiskers tickle my neck. Nothing smells like the horses on a warm spring day.

Pulling the weeds popping up in the sandbox so we can start our next masterpiece, smelling the fresh mowed lawn. Grandma calls from inside to come eat a hot, fresh cookie. 

Feeling the sun warm on my back as I sit at a picnic table, not worried about anything but this moment. Thinking I might take off on a bareback, barefoot ride on one of the horses like I have so many times before.

I've been grown for years now, and I have a family of my own. But my childhood wasn't really over until he was gone.

I walk through their quiet house, once full of his smile and quips, swearing he's going to come out of the next room any second. I stand in the coat closet, breathing in his scent. Old Spice mixed with breath mints from his church coat pocket. Something is gone now I'll never get back.

It wasn't really over until he was gone.