We chatted with the Swedes on Wednesday, my mum and I. My nephew didn’t seem much interested. He smiled when our faces appeared on Skype; but he refused to talk. Rather, he would whisper something in his mama’s ear, and she would relay it on. We didn’t think anything of it; after all, talking to relatives via the computer can’t be that exciting for a man of three. And he was dealing with a wretched cold.
Before long, he wandered off–bored, we assumed.
We were wrong. My brother found him sitting alone, on the sofa, crying. When asked what was the matter, he told him he didn’t want to talk to us, because it made him sad–he missed us, and wanted to see us.
And our hearts broke into a million little pieces.
You know, a few weeks ago I watched Joyful Noise–two hours of my life I’ll never get back. Yet cornball as it was, when Dolly Parton sang From Here to the Moon and Back, I cried like a baby.
We can’t always be with the ones we love, but our love most definitely can . . .
So as I sit here, contemplating what I might wish for your weekend, I can think of nothing else–someone to love, someone to return the favor . . . from here, to the moon, and back.
Happy weekend, my friends! xoxo