Letting Go

by Peggy McFarland

They're happy tears, she told her youngest son as he tapped his foot. He refused to let her tears delay what took eighteen years, six months and seven days to arrive. Call me, she added, and raised her arms. She wasn't grandma, it wasn't Christmas, no one died... after several awkward moments he leaned in for her hug. I love you, she said, as he shut the dorm room door. Finally free, finally free he chanted in his head as he placed clothes in the bureau, books on the shelf and a framed photograph of mom on the nightstand.


Peggy McFarland loves writing six sentences and is still working on writing many, many sentences all in a row.