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I wish I would have told them more often in words.
Perhaps I should have showed them more often with actions.
It's funny how you contemplate every "what if …" after it's too late.
I miss my children.
I miss my dogs.
It is definitely lonely at my house.
I remember a time when it seemed as if there wasn't enough room in my spacious home for everyone to fit comfortably.
Having three teenage boys 5-foot-11 or taller, we actually did need that much room in which to live. And love. And grow.
The addition of two puppies that eventually grew into fairly large dogs, weighing around 80 pounds each, only added to the need for additional space.
Enter two cats I never asked for and a rabbit that I wish would have remained indoors (I won't go into detail why) and you've got yourself some pretty cramped quarters.
But I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Again, time went by.
Life passed by.
Then, the moment came for my oldest to leave for college.
No, he wasn't venturing off to the other side of the world. He was only attending Kent State. Merely an hour-and-a-half drive.
Yet, it sure seemed like the other side of the world.
How I worried for him.
But then, how I prayed.
Because as the Lord tells us, "Be still … and know that I am God."
So, I began to worry less. Although, I wouldn't be much of a mom if I didn't panic every now and then, wondering if my kids were all right.
Fortunately, he was able to acquire a guide dog to help him in his travels. Assist him when in public. Who, without fail, became his very best friend.
Dylan never came home from college. Following graduation, he moved there, renting a tiny apartment. A new guide dog at his side, for the other had passed on.
Although he rarely spoke -- keeping mostly to himself, his presence was monumental.
I miss him greatly.
After he moved away, my house became a bit empty.
A part of me became empty, as well.
My youngest was the next to leave.
Toward the end of his senior year, he decided to join the military. Where had this come from? It never entered my mind that this would be the career path he would choose.
And within six months of graduating, he was gone.
He left his family behind, moving toward a new one -- the Air Force family.
But that is what children do.
They mature and become their own person. With their own lives.
Their own plans. Their own dreams.
And we must let them go.
The pain that they cause in their leaving is certainly not intentional.
But no one can break your heart like your own child.
Again, it felt like my son was moving to the other side of the world.
Only this time, he literally had.
My home had grown even more empty.
And so did my heart.
It was now just Caleb and me.
We were the best of friends and I welcomed the fact we were still together under the same roof.
But within a few years, he, too, was gone.
The one who could cause me so much grief and anxiety, yet still be the source of so much of my laughter and happiness, left home.
A son of his own would soon bring him a joy which I never could have described to him in mere words.
His world would now consist of raising a child who was identical to him in both looks and personality.
A tiny, beautiful human who would place on me the label of "grandma" would now become his focus.
When Caleb moved out, the house became emptier than ever.
My heart became emptier than ever.
But I still had my Shayley and my Mia. My beloved dogs. They were the only occupants left to greet me at the door when I came home from work.
The wagging of tails now replaced those hugs "hello."
Conversations filled with humor and wit had been replaced with a quiet "woof" if one could muster the strength to do so. And yet, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
With my children gone, they were all that remained. I loved them dearly.
But within a month's time, they too, would be gone. And not an hour-and-a-half away. Not on the other side of the world. Just gone.
Now, every time I walk into the house, every time I wake up in the middle of the night, every morning when my eyes open for the start of another day ... I realize just how empty that house has become.
And the instant I remember, my home becomes a mere structure.
My heart, just an organ that beats until the moment I can see them again.
(Stenger is the community editor of the Herald-Star and the Weirton Daily Times.)