I cried myself to sleep last night.

It all started yesterday morning when I walked into Jacob’s room to put away his little socks and superhero underwear, and I was struck by just how quiet the house is without him.

Hannah said to me, as Bridget was napping and we were lounging with books in hand, Isn’t this nice?

It sure is, I replied.

I like to imagine, with a bit of envy, that this is how it is most of the time for those parents who have just one child and who have since surpassed the demanding stages of infant and toddlerhood. Quiet. Relaxing. Little stress.

With one visiting Granny & Papa, one taking a nap, and one reading a book on the couch, I thought I was on vacation! For once, I didn’t have one kid or another asking me to fix a meal or break up a fight. I didn’t have to worry about who was flooding the bathroom or getting into the toolbox.

But for those of us who are used to constant noise and commotion, any amount of quiet is felt in a most acute way so that it’s almost painful.

When I spoke to Jacob on the phone last night, he said to me, I cried a little today.

Why, Buddy?

I just miss you so much.

He sounded homesick. He’s never stayed with Granny & Papa without Hannah, and even though I know they are spoiling him with attention, he misses his sisters and us.

I miss you, too, Buddy. You’ll be home tomorrow, so try not to be so sad.

Okay. I love you, Mommy . . .

So when I went to bed last night, my mind started to wander. As perverse as it sounds, I began to imagine what it must be like for those parents who have lost a child. You read about them every so often via one blog or another, and their accounts of loss just wrench your heart because you can almost feel their suffering.

Your throat closes, and you grit your teeth just trying to squelch the tears. Your body aches just to feel your child in your arms, to hold them as close to you as possible and breathe in their scent. You try to recall their voice and mannerisms as best you can, but it’s difficult.

Having a high-maintenance child is exhausting. You might assume that I relish the slow-paced life that comes with him being away for a few days.

Truth be told, though, I spend nearly every moment thinking about having him home.

I’m just lucky that mine will come home again.