It's a book, "A Place Called Here" by Cecelia Ahern. I'm midway through and already know that I will be up reading, far into the night.
It's about a place, called Here, where things go, when they're missing. Socks. Keys. Luggage. The place we've all wondered about, while sorting laundry and discovering that yet another sock is missing its mate.
Here, is where people go, too. Children, adults - while porch lights the world over burn, night after night, to guide them home. Memories go Here, too. The smell of summers, long past, linger Here. An old lover's cologne. A mother's voice, her scent. Here.
And for the first time since Andrew died, I feel some peace. Hopeful that he too, is Here. Happy. Whole. Free.
Easter dinner, in Lakefield. The boys and Mark and I sat around the table with my parents, laughing at Luke's feeding frenzy antics and only half listening to Matthew's constant, happy chatter. Until he "cheers-ed" the table and then stopped, gazing at the empty spot, next to the window.
"Somebody's missing!" he announced, giddily. "Who's missing?"
And I held my breath, we all did...knowing who was missing. And I felt my heart break, just a little, missing the one who was missing.
I miss you, Bamboo. Wishing you Here. Wishing you everything.