By Ken Ketler
submitted by his wife Julie
 Thursday
morning, I walk out the back door to leave for my 45-minute drive to
work. Pulling out of the driveway, I look back toward the house, where
my wife, Julie and our 2-year-old son, Thomas are smiling and waving.
I make some goofy faces, wave back, and give a couple of short beeps
of the horn. God, I miss them already!
Finally arriving at work, I climb into my
coffin-like cubicle, where most of the day will slowly drone by. Some
time around 10:30, as I trudge through the same work I did yesterday
(which is the same I will do tomorrow), my office phone rings.
Answering with the standard "hello", I'm greeted with a small
gentle voice. "Daaaaad," he says. "Thomas, is that
you?" Apparently, he's holding his Mom's cellular phone and
has managed to turn it on and press the redial button. My little boy
is calling me on the phone!
 In the background, I hear automobile road
noise and the clear sound of children's music. It's Mr. Bell, sung
by Raffi. "Blah-blah-goo-gloogle-rah", Tommy says. Then he
joins Julie in singing along with the music, occasionally stopping to
say "hello" to me, "ehh, ohh". As the minutes pass, I
listen quietly and realize that Julie has no idea Tom and I are
communicating! What an amazing secret I share with my little boy!
"What are you and Mumma doing, Tom?" I say, trying not to be
heard over the graveyard-like silence of my office area. "Daaad,
blooh-gloh-glah-beedah-bo." "Oh, really? Where are you going
with Mom?" "Zah-gloo-gloo-dahsh-shoosh-shin-doo-shah."
 Sometimes when we all ride in the car, Julie
drives and I sit in the backseat with Thomas, just to read books, or
sing, or rub his arm to help him fall asleep. I feel like I'm in the
backseat right now, only... I'm not. I'm buried here in the
purgatory that is my cubicle. I miss them both tremendously, but I
take solace in knowing they're doing fine without me. I know we'll
all be happily joined together very soon and can't wait to see them!
I'm surely blessed to know them both and feel honored to be able to
visit with my boy before our family reunites. Pondering the symbolism,
I am almost moved to tears. I feel like a ghost.
|
Breastfeeding
Reading
Room
