THE SWING SET
I tickled your toes as I pushed you in the swing. You squealed with delight."Stop, Nana."
"Do it again, Nana," over and over again. We played until my arms tired from pushing you, and we laughed until we were hoarse. I miss those days, playing in the sun. Your laughter fluttering in the breeze.
The swing set is rusted now, the ropes all frayed. The seat cracked and splintered, much like my heart.
Ten years, but it seems like yesterday since you were taken right out from under our nose. From our own garden of sunlight, our haven, our own play ground, and I cannot take it down because, I can never forgive myself for going in, to answer the phone.
