The Swing set
Jacob sat in a stroller. Anaïs was months from conception, and as for Héloïse…the very idea of a third child hadn’t even skimmed our consciousness. I remember building this with Cynthia over a couple of summer afternoons, taking our time, picturing what would be. I remember the three of them, their friends, the neighbourhood kids—everyone hanging and sliding and jumping.
Last weekend we tore the swing set down. We’d asked Héloïse about it, in the spring, but she’d been hesitant, clearly torn about leaving her childhood behind, stuck on that awkward tipping point we’ve all experienced, where the heart hopes and breaks all at once. When we asked again Saturday morning she shrugged, as if we’d asked her permission to butter our toast: “Mmm, sure. Duh?”
The yard feels empty but we’ll build it up. Maybe a fire pit to roast marshmallows. It’s time again to picture what will be.
