Waiting

   For all the years when I sat in my car and waited outside schools or at other venues for my kids, I wasn't worried that they wouldn't appear. I knew they would, but a separate part of my mind believed they would never appear. That schism wasn't helped by the fact that whatever child I was waiting for always seemed to be last or near last. I can't remember a single time when they appeared first. That deep part of my brain believed, calmly enough, that I would not see them emerge from whatever doorway held them. That was the phantom part of my brain.
    That same thought process has returned. I'm waiting for a mailing. I see official word that it is enroute. I know mostly what message is being relayed,  and I am told it should arrive soon. I can't really believe it. Maybe it's a form of PTSD.