Seen and not heard

I hadn't heard from her in a day.

Not a call, not a text, not even a blurry nested photo of what she was doing, and what she looked like doing it, when Be Real went live ... 

I looked at my watch. "It's been thirteen hours and one entire day."

The mission, should you choose to accept it, is getting proof of life before the NOC list gets out in the open. 

Not that the disappearance should have worried me.

As the semester's end neared, and with it, the time-gobbling tasks of course finals looming, I had told myself to expect a certain increase in cellular silence. 

Tests should trump texts despite this modern age of upheaval. 

My daughter's generation has migrated to new playgrounds that members of my generation don't easily assimilate. 

Our inner thoughts are encased by the thinnest of, yet nearly impenetrable, virtual walls.

Facebook is for the elderly, Linked-in is for the elderly who are still employable, and Twitter is a 44-billion-dollar hole in the universe where the rest of us shout into a void. 

Desperation is a text from your mom at 6:45 ... a time calculated to wake you up a few minutes before you needed to get out of bed anyway. 

In these early days of this new freedom, the message will be verbose and irritating by the sheer word count and the forced smile they intone: 

"Good morning!!! I know you are busy. But can you text back when you get a chance? Just want to know you are ok. You didn't post a photo yesterday on the only site you allow me to see (and for which I try not to comment or be intrusive in any way so that you might forget I am lurking ... like a stalker and come to regret allowing this small access). **Heart emoji, prayer emoji, smiley face emoji**"

Three dots drum their fingers on the screen and my fears immediately start to abate. 

"I'm fine. Just super busy with finals. *heart emoji, heart emoji, laughing face emoji.*"

The kids aren't here. They aren't supposed to be. That magic arc of childhood is hurtling towards the other horizon: adulthood.  

We knew the advice wasn't cliche: "Enjoy it while it lasts. You won't believe how fast time goes."

But sleep deprivation made us believe that we could be the exception. 

 

Our kids will call. They will write. They will visit every chance they get. And when they visit they will spend quality time ...

... with their friends. Or the kids who were not their friends, but who, with the hindsight of maturation, friendship was just a delayed opportunity. 

Which can be rectified over winter break. 

Our kids are still here.

Even when they aren't here. 

When they are out living their lives.

So, by this time next year, I fully expect to be able to text a "You good?" And get a thumbs-up emoji. As it should be.

But I'm not giving up hope of hearing her voice ... when she gets tired of typing and has more than a few words to say, she records a voice memo and sends it back in the chat. It self-destructs after playing.