My head is hurting. My heart is heavy.

Tonight it’s not as hot and humid, and the noseeums and mosquitos are not biting, so I’m on the porch.

The spicy leaves of the geranium waft their distinct smell at me as I sit next to them, slumping down in the wicker chair.

The fern and rose of Sharon in front of me almost touch, making a screen for me to hide behind.

I’m in my emotions.

It’s soothing here, listening to the distinct sounds of summer. Crickets. Cicadas. The occasional frog. It’s the constant background noise, from spring until winter in Florida.

I wish they hadn’t put in that street lamp. Just to my right, it pervasively shines into my self imposed solitude. I want to be anonymous. Disappear.

The light won’t let me.

So I close my eyes. Humming insects and my regular breathing are all I hear in my quiet neighborhood.

My husband joins me, and we talk softly about the things troubling my heart.

It’s been a hard day.

We don’t come up with an answer, but at least I get a chance to cry a little bit, and talk to the one person who understands my breaking heart.

I never thought being the parent of adult children would be so difficult.

To me, it’s the hardest thing I’ve yet to do.

The carefree days of their youth have long since passed.

All the love, all the concern – and you just have to release the pain. Release the expectations.

A little frog nearby starts it’s trill, and I can focus on the night again.

For now, it’s ferns and frogs…and a heart that got broken a little more today.

I breathe the geraniums peppery scent as I brush past them on the way back inside, back to reality, and perhaps some sleep.