54 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW remember her when your new school puts on the same musical you were both in. Someone mentions that band you both loved. It’s dating at this age, in this age. You text a boy every fifteen minutes, and one day he realizes it’s not quite right. But you still listen for your phone to chirp. - Maybe one day I’ll miss the video game music my brothers refuse to turn off in the car. The Simpsons theme song or golf match hosts when my dad finally gets the remote. My sister singing in the shower. My mom on the phone with her mom. Someone leaving the gate open and the dogs scampering up the stairs, collars jingling. But these are gradual. These are my world shifting slowly as I grow, at the rate it should. Instead of a sudden quiet, these losses fade into the background and are replaced by others, so that I barely notice. So I can say that maybe one day I’ll miss it, but more likely it’ll be gone before I know missing it is an option. - The planes came back. I’ve never known a world without them. It’s one of my many privileges to look up at them excitedly, rather than in fear. There are all these little losses in my life, little absences that I don’t always notice. But if all the good gifts in life are from above, reminders of an ultimate, incomprehensible goodness, then perhaps all the little losses are
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