Time waits for no one

I sat studying the outline of my nineteen-year-old son, Erik, as he sat at the opposite end of the couch from me.
I choked on the lump in my throat and blinked abnormally fast as I fought the torrent of tears waiting to flood my cheeks.
I wondered too how I would survive without him.
Erik sat with his right leg crossed over his left knee and his foot moved from side to side constantly. Was he nervous, or just anxious to leave?
I tried to make small talk but it fell with a resounding thud. My husband asked if he had everything ready. Yes of course he was ready. Erik’s reply was short and curt.
Ready? How could he know if he was ready? I agonized in my mind.
tick. . .TICK. . . TICK the grandfather clock meticulously reminded us that time was moving. It was the only sound in the room.
The blast from a car horn sounded and jerked us all back to reality.
Erik flew out of his seat, reached for his over stuffed duffel bag and almost escaped out the front door. I stopped him by asking for a hug. He reluctantly returned and squeezed me. Erik gave his brother a punch and a hug and shook hands with his dad, picked up the duffle bag and was gone.
I watched his face disappear as the Marines drove off with my firstborn, my son, and the light of my life.