Bud started it last week, "If Nanny comes, Gommie is leaving, isn't she?"
And he's cried pretty much daily since then, "Can't she leave on Tuesday instead? Or in May? Or just stay here?"
Last night, Gommie and I took turns, ill-timed for poetry reading. Gommie would choke up on a line and pass the book to me and then I would choke up and pass it back. Mama finally had to finish the poem.
And then this morning, Sis sat on the floor of Gommie's room and cried while she got dressed.
But the actual separation, when the kids headed off to school, was relatively painless. With no tears . . . .