
In this too-big, too-empty house that was way too small for so many years
Years that seemed like they may never end and yet went by too quickly- and without our permission
If only we could rewind
So many years of schedules and sports and tasks and homework and projects and tests and assignments
Of early mornings and late evenings and toys and smelly athletic equipment all over the place
And now- what?
Where’s the pitter patter, the banging and crashing and yelling and screaming and whining/complaining and hugging and cuddling (so much cuddling) and good morning/goodnight kisses

and laughing
and laughing
and laughing
The calls to “Bring me this,” “Can you pick me up?” “Where are you?” “ Have you seen my…?” “This is due tomorrow” and “I’m HUNGRY!” are no more
The busy practice schedules and game lineups by which we set our calendar are missing, and the days and nights, and weekends are now wide open: fluid
EMPTY
There is no frantic pace nor time to be home or wake up early or drop everything to take or pick up
No hurried trips to the store for this or that and no creative menus to prepare and to watch be enthusiastically devoured
Gone are the excited bursts through the door announcing victories or accomplishments or team news or funny “Guess what happened today” or “Can you believe…” or “Promise you won’t get mad” or talks about heartbreaks or observations or big plans and dreams
Now there is SILENCE
The messy rooms are all cleared out, just spaces where echoes of childhood remain
There are no more shoes and fishing gear and book-bags and sports stuff on the porch (which would normally be a good thing)—except, sadly, there is no prospect nor anticipation for them to return

And so here we are
Trying not to look back
Not sure where the hell we are supposed to look
As we try to navigate, define or redefine this life that has wrapped and captivated and occupied and made us who we’ve been for so long
But not nearly long enough
There is accomplishment and freedom, pride and relief
But the “Big, Wide Open” is terrifying
Like coming up for air only to find that you long to dive back down deep and stay there
So now we wait
And take it all in
And take a deep breath
And a million more
In this too-big, too-empty house where the silence is deafening. By Dr. Mary Jo Almeida-Shore

Dr. Mary Jo Almeida-Shore is a writer, editor, and mother of two grown boys. Dr. Almeida-Shore is a founding editor of the Miamisocialholic and has been a contributor to Us Weekly, Miami Community News, the Miami Sun Post, The Miami Herald’s Miami.com, Time magazine publications, NBC Universal, Haute Living magazine, and many more. Dr. Shore earned her Doctorate degree from Florida International University in Curriculum and Instruction. In addition to her journalistic endeavors, she has served as an educator for the Miami-Dade County Public School System: five years as a teacher and fifteen as a vice principal.