The towels are all washed, dried, folded and stacked in neat, fluffy piles.

The bedding is laundered and put back on the beds, covered with the special bedspread and pillow shams. The guest room is put to sleep until it is needed again.

The crumbs from snacks eaten in the living room are vacuumed and the room is again neat and tidy, no dog toys littering the floor and no pillows or throws out of place.

The many drinking glasses and cereal bowls are once again in their designated spots in the closed cupboards and the counters are free of distressing clutter.

And I am sad.

Do I miss my grandchildren? Or do I miss my grown child, whose chatter at one time filled my days, but who now is absent from me almost all the time? It was, after all, this life of parenting and providing and being present in his own family that I raised him for. My job was done well.

But sometimes there is no joy in that. Only loneliness.