I would like to report that I am handling this with grace. Except, there are two empty spots beside me, and I’ve been doing a fair amount of crying.

My son’s dogs have gone to live with him.

This is a good thing. I know that. They are his dogs, and I want him to have them with him. I just hadn’t realized how much of my daily happiness had quietly arranged itself around their presence.

For years, we had our mornings. Before the gym, before work, before the day started asking things of me, we would settle in together. Rocky tucked under the blanket. A dog on either side of me, my little bookends. I could reach over and pet them without even looking. There was always somebody close enough to hug.

It was such an ordinary part of my life that I didn’t understand how much it was doing for me.

Now I sit down, and the absence is immediate.

I miss their warmth. I miss the company. I miss having two little buddies who were perfectly content to participate in my morning simply by being themselves.

Apparently, doing absolutely nothing together can mean quite a lot.

I keep reminding myself that they’re loved and that I’ll see them again. Every bit of that is true. So is the fact that my mornings feel lonely.

There’s a particular difficulty in being sad about something you also support. You start policing your own feelings. Surely, you should be handling this better. Surely, knowing everything is okay should be enough to make you feel okay.

I have tried that argument on myself. So far, it hasn’t been especially persuasive.

And then there’s the word grace. I picture someone smiling warmly, accepting change, perhaps offering a few wise words before getting on with her day.

I would like to meet that woman because she isn’t me.

What I’m beginning to understand is that I can be generous about this change while being honest about what it costs me. I can want my son to enjoy their company without pretending I won’t miss it. I can cry without asking him to fix it.

That last part feels closest to the grace I’m trying to find.

Loving them all these years was easy. Adjusting to the quiet is going to take some practice. I’m still figuring out what to do with those first minutes of the morning, when I settle into my usual spot and remember that our routine has changed.

I want my son to have those ordinary, wonderful moments with them.

I just need a little time to get used to the empty spaces beside me.

Kim Van Meter is a former full-time reporter for The Oakdale Leader, The Escalon Times and The Riverbank News; she continues to provide a monthly column. She can be reached at kvanmeter@oakdaleleader.com.