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You Miss Me?

Grandson was on the phone with his Dad.

It was lovely to watch — the way he talked, eyes bright, voice dancing. Full vivacity mode.

Dad, from the other end: “You miss me?”

Now, grandson had his own idea. Different idea. He wasn’t going to spill his missing. Not yet. He wanted to know how Papa misses him.

He loves that part. Not saying “I miss you” — but hearing “This is how I miss you.”

So his father plays along. He tells him.  
“I miss you when I come home and your shoes aren’t by the door.  
I miss our wrestling match before dinner.  
I miss our special language — the one only we understand.  
I miss stealing your fries and you pretending to be angry.”

And the grandson? He listens with great interest. Eyes shining. Saving his own “I miss you” like a secret sweet. He reserves his expressions, but soaks in every word of how he is missed.

He loves that ‘how we miss him’ conversation. Every single time, we have to tell him. Fresh details. New examples. Same love.

Interesting, no?

Note to self: We adults… do we like saying how we miss someone, or do we secretly love hearing how we are missed? 😊

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