The Morning After, Still Playing

THE MORNING AFTER, STILL PLAYING

December 30, 2025

He woke up at ten.
Ready to play.

No formula.
Which was fine,
because I forgot to make it last night.

I boiled the water.
Gave my thoughts somewhere to go.
Cleaned up.
Went to bed.

Sarah went to get the bottle after he woke up.
That’s when it hit us.
I forgot.
Of course I did.

He did not care.

She had lined his toys up the night before.
Mr. Fish,
and a stuffed monkey,
sitting in his potty.

It was new.
Different.

He saw them.
Pointed.
And we followed.

I was carrying him toward the room,
already rehearsing a solution.
A make believe bottle.
Maybe a fruit pouch.

He wanted none of it.

He wanted to play.
And that was all that mattered.

Grief doesn’t announce itself.
It shows up as missed steps.
Forgotten routines.
Morning gaps that don’t collapse anything.

The world kept going.
So did he.

And in the middle of it,
without knowing the day,
or what ended,
he showed me where to begin.