Their first week out of school, the kids have spent with me. Luckily, I only had one business meeting scheduled, so we've had a sustained opportunity to both hang around the house and explore the city.
It's just fine being a tourist in your own city. There's a good reason all those people from the Midwest and Europe and China like to visit this area.
Besides, on cold summer days, nothing tastes better than hot chili in a sourdough bowl.
And on cold summer nights, nothing is better than sitting inside the Club Level glass windows at the Giants' Park on McCovey Cove.
But now begins one of those weeks that, even many years after the breakup of a marriage, weighs on me.
They'll be off at a camp we used to visit as a family.
I'll miss them, and I'll miss being there with them. This is the kind of loss that cannot and will not be replaced. Time. Time is also growing them up, of course. Even if I was there, they would mainly hang out with their friends, which is a good thing.
But time, for me, is no longer a good thing.
I'm stuck in a time warp, remembering a time that will not return. And completely alone in a foggy city. It will be a week with radically different feelings than this one has.
And a week to endure the silence that engulfs this place whenever they leave.
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