“Naughty cat! Get down!”
Immersed in the umpteenth translation, from the studio I hear the shouts of my second-born Alessandra berating Marlon, a former stray, now a rather portly cat lording it over the family sofa.

Outside, the September sun brings a feeble warmth to a day that is empty without Giorgio, my eldest. Now a man, he has left for university: spirited, sensitive and tugging at my heart.

Who’d have thought that his absence would have cut so deep, with these sudden, stabbing pains? I cannot tell whether the heartache comes from knowing that now he's flown the nest and that life will never be the same again, or merely from the torment of the years flashing by like lightning in a summer storm - and the uneasy feeling that I didn’t enjoy these kids, I didn’t love them and raise them as I should have - could have – done.

Alessandra immediately settled into her new role of only child, a role she has coveted for 16 years and which is now all hers, at least until her big brother comes back home for the holidays.

Her moods swing between the satisfaction of finally having Mum and Dad under her thumb, and the solitude of someone who didn't realise how much she loved her brother. Who will unravel the mysteries of Latin to her now? More importantly, who will lend her a mobile phone when her credit runs out?

I hear approaching footsteps, the cat Marlon protesting… “Mummy, look, isn’t he cute?. Listen, you don’t really need your mobile right this minute, do you?”

Alessandra has found a solution. The steady gaze of Marlon, ensconced in her arms, says it all.

“Bad cat! Get off!”
From the study, immersed in my umpteenth translation, I hear my second-born Alessandra railing at Marlon, former stray cat and current king of the sofa.

Outside, a meek September sun warms the emptiness of this day without Giorgio, a man by now, my oldest who has left for college: reckless, raw, heart-rending.

Who would have thought that his absence would hurt with pangs amounting to betrayal? I don’t know if the pain comes from the knowledge that he has taken flight and life will never again be as before, or from the simple angst of the years passing like lightning in a summer thunderstorm. And from the apprehension that I didn’t enjoy these children enough, I didn’t love them and raise them as I should have. As I could have.

Alessandra has quickly taken on her new role of only child, a role coveted for 16 years that is now all her own, at least until her big brother returns for vacation.

Her moods alternate between the satisfaction of having finally conquered mommy and daddy and the loneliness of someone who hadn’t realized how much they loved their brother. Who will explain Latin to her now? More importantly, who will loan her a cell phone when she’s out of minutes?

I hear steps getting closer and the protests of Marlon the cat… “Mama, see how cute he is? Listen, you’re not using your cell phone right now, are you?”

Alessandra has found a solution. And from her arms, Marlon fixes me with a pithy stare.

“You mangy cat! Get off there!”
From the study, immersed in my umpteenth translation, I hear Alessandra, my second child, shouting at Marlon, the stray cat we adopted, currently lying stretched out on the sofa like a king.

Outside, a faint September sun spreads its warmth into the emptiness of the day without Giorgio, my first-born child, now grown up, who has left to go to university: audacious, warm and endearing.

Who would have said that his absence would have caused such hurt, with these pangs that struck so unexpectedly? I don't know whether the pain arose from the realisation that now he had left the nest and life would never be the same again, or from the simple sadness of the passing years that go by like flashes of summer lightning. And from the doubts that I had not properly appreciated these children, had not loved them and brought them up as I should have done. As I could have done.

Alessandra had taken on her new role as only child at once, a role for which she had longed for 16 years and which was now hers, at least until the return of “big bro.” for the vacation.

Her moods alternate between satisfaction at having got mum and dad under her thumb at last, and the loneliness from not having realised how much she loved her brother. Who would explain Latin to her now? More importantly, who would lend her a phone when her card ran out?

I hear footsteps approaching, and Marlon the cat protesting... “Mummy, have you seen how sweet he is? Listen, you don’t need your mobile just at the moment, do you?”

Alessandra has found a solution. And Marlon, in her arms, fixes me with a laconic look.

«Darn cat! Get down!»
From the study, engrossed in my umpteenth translation, I hear the shouts of Alessandra, my second child, cursing Marlon, our large moggie, once a stray, who now reigns supreme on the sofa in our house.

Outside, a faint September sun warms the bleakness of the day without Giorgio, my eldest son, who is now a man and has left for university: fearless, kind-hearted and sensitive.

Who would have thought his absence would hurt with these pangs that take you by surprise? I don’t know whether the pain stems from the realisation that he has now flown the nest and that life will never be the same, or simply from the anguish of the years that pass like flashes in a summer storm. And from the feeling that I did not make the most of my children, I did not love them and bring them up as I should have done. How could I?

Alessandra immediately slipped into her new role as only child, a role she had coveted for 16 years, and which is now all hers, at least until her “big brother” comes home for the holidays.

Her mood swings between feeling satisfaction because she finally holds sway over mum and dad, and the loneliness of a person who had not realised how much her brother meant to her. Now who is going to explain Latin to her? And more importantly, who is going to lend her their cell-phone when her card has run out?

I hear footsteps approaching, Marlon the cat protests … «isn’t he sweet, mum? Listen, you don’t need your cell phone right now, do you?»

Alessandra has found her solution. And Marlon, in her arms, stares at me with his indifferent gaze.

“Get down you stupid cat!”
I hear my second-born child, Alessandra, howling at Marlon, the stray-no-more cat who had recently taken up residence on the couch as I work on my umpteenth translation in the study.
A weak September sun warms the empty space left by the departure of my first-born child, Giorgio. He is a man now and has just flown the coop to University: unafraid, sentimental, touching.
How could I have ever known that his absence would have stabbed with such unexpected force? I don’t know if this pain comes from the idea that he has now taken flight and life will never be the same again, or from the simple distress at the idea that the years flash by as quickly as lightening in a summer storm. This, along with the uncertainty of whether I had ever really taken pleasure from these children, or whether I had loved them and raised them as well as I should have. As I could have.
Alessandra had immediately slipped into her new role as only child. She has aspired to playing this part for 16 years now, and it is finally hers. At least until her big brother comes home for the holidays.
Her mood shifts between the satisfaction of finally having mummy and daddy all to herself, and the loneliness of a girl who has not yet understood how much she actually loves her brother. Who will explain Latin to her now? And more importantly, who will loan her a mobile phone when she runs out of credit?
I hear her approach accompanied by a complaining Marlon, “Mummy, have you noticed how adorable he is? By the way, do you need your mobile right at this exact moment?”
Alessandra had found a solution. And Marlon stares at me laconically from her arms.

“Down Moggie!”
The yells reaching me in the study, in the middle of yet another translation, are those of my second child Alessandra, screaming at Marlon the cat, once a stray but now king of the sofa in our house.

Outside, the weak September sun takes the chill off a day that’s empty without Giorgio, who’s grown up, become a man and gone away to university full of enthusiasm, endearment and emotion.

Who’d have thought his going away would inflict such pain it feels like a betrayal? Whether it’s from knowing he’s flown the nest and life will never be the same again or simply anguish that the years are passing like flashes of lightning in a summer storm, I’m just not sure. Or is it that I haven’t appreciated my children, haven’t loved them, brought them up as well as I should have? As I could have?

Alessandra has instantly adopted the role of only child, one she’s hankered after for 16 years and has now made her own, at least till “big brother” comes home on vacation.

Her mood switches between smugness at having got one over Mums and Dads at last and feeling alone, only now appreciating how much she loves her brother. Who’s going to help her with her Latin now? Or, more importantly, who’s going to lend her a mobile when her phone-card run’s out?

I hear steps approaching and Marlon the cat objecting … “Look Mummikins, how sweet he is? Oh, are you using your mobile at all at the moment?”

Alessandra’s found an answer. And wrapped in her arms, Marlon gives me a laconic look.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty!"

In the study, lost in my umpteenth translation, I hear Alessandra, my second child, yelling for Marlon, once a stray kitten but now king of the sofa.

Outside, a wan September sun warms the emptiness of a day without Giorgio, my daring, caring and sharing eldest child, who has now become a man and gone to university.

Who would have thought that his absence could hurt with these pangs that amount to feelings of betrayal? I don't know if the pain comes from the belief that he has now flown the nest and life will never be the same as before, or from the simple regret that the years are passing by like lightning in a summer storm. Or perhaps it stems from the doubt that I have not enjoyed these children, that I have not loved them and raised them as I should have done. Or could have done.

Alessandra herself has suddenly taken on the new role of an only child. She has coveted this role for 16 years and now it's all hers, at least until “big brother” comes back home for the holidays.

Her moods alternate between pleasure that she finally has Mummy and Daddy all to herself and loneliness that could only be explained by how much she loves her brother. Now who will explain Latin to her? More importantly, who will lend her his mobile when her card is empty?

I hear footsteps approaching and Marlon yowling in protest. "Mummy, have you seen how cute he is? Look, do you really need your mobile right now?"

Alessandra has found a solution. Marlon, nestled in her arms, fixes me with a laconic stare.