Mended dreams... Kept Promise

Our eldest son called and let us know he was planning to visit with us last week-end. He wanted to come down with his beloved son, and his beloved dog, and spend a few days fishing. He casually mentioned that he found something at his house the day before that he thought I might like and he was going to bring it down for me. It all sounded perfect. I got to see my boy.. and his boy.. and I got a present to boot. I admit it without shame... I LOVE presents!

He arrived, unloaded the car, and walked to the hammock to "rest a spell"... "Where's my present?" I asked. "Um. I dunno. Must be in the house somewhere, I'm guessin." "Okay. I'll see it later." "No. Why don't you go in and see if you can find it?" "Uhhhh.. that would be because I have no idea what I'm looking for. Why don't you go find it for me if you want me to have it now?" "Cuz I'm in the hammock... You're standing up. You can't miss it. It's probably by my suitcase."

I decided I could wait, so I stayed outside visiting and started to water the flowers.

"Mom. Would you please get me a drink? Please. Puhleeeeeze."

I'm a sucker for begging...so, I went to the house to pour him a tall, refreshing glass of cherry limeade. I opened the door, looked straight ahead, and there sitting on the couch was my second born son, who I was under the impression was still in Virginia. I reacted like a sophmore who was just asked to the prom by the senior captain of the football team. I giggled, I jumped, I squealed. I ran to the couch and hugged all 6'4" of him as best as my 5'2" frame could muster. Everytime I see this young man in my home, my heart does back flips!! He's my charmer, my most sensitive spirit, my "Pied Piper".

Perhaps I'll share one of the few pieces of "semi, sort of, unintended poetry" I've written. It explains the reason why it is such a gift to have him with me. It was written in the early morning hours, during a blizzard. He was 17 at the time, he'd been gone for weeks. He had walked in earlier that evening just after dinner dishes had been done. I can not express the relief and joy that settled over me when I saw him.

We sat on the heater in the living room, under a blanket, and remembered good times together. We were there until about 2:30 in the morning. We shared a few subdued laughs...and shed a few tears together. He finally held me close and said he was tired and wanted to go to bed. He went downstairs and I folded the blankets we had been snuggled under and climbed upstairs where I thanked God for his safe return. About 6:00, I went to his room just to watch him sleep. He was gone. And I wrote....

"The light from the streetlamp sliced through the low lying mist and shone in slivers on the freshly fallen snow. I saw the young scrub oak in Julie's yard that was already forming Rhine's Ice...that wonderful layer of ice that makes everything it touches resemble finely hand carved crystal. I saw the cottonwood that sheltered my front walkway with the snow settled on it's branches as soft and delicate as a soap bubble. I saw the untouched, clean, blue-white road leading away from my home and down the hill into town. Untouched, that is, except for his footsteps. They began where I stood in the open doorway and traveled down the front walkway, across the street, and through the neighbor's front yard. They continued to lead down the hill...away from home...away from me...away from the life we had tried to provide for him. I stared at the imprints and wondered what time it was when he left. How long had he been gone? How long would he stay away? I suppose I stood there staring, not feeling the cold chill in the air for a half hour or so before I could bring myself to close the door. I allowed myself to walk into the living room and sink into the cushions on the couch, and into despair. I wanted to cry or to scream, "I love you." loud enough for him to hear me wherever he was. I wanted to run after him, but I just sat in a room full of shadows and memories and let my mind drift.

Wasn't it just a moment ago that he came crashing in the back door full of Huckleberry Finn mischief? I cradled thoughts of him as a toddler, his eyes, fringed with long, lush, dark lashes, forever searching my soul. Then as a small child, wandering off to find some little known nook where he could discover a world of his own making. And as an adolescent, bursting with an eagerness to know and experience all of life. And as a teenager... What was he as a teenager? Tender, loving, deeply spiritual, witty, lonely, angry, confused, reaching out for understanding and a sense of belonging.

I wanted another chance to hold him and rock him as he slept, safe in my arms. I wished that I could take him on a picnic later that day...that we could photograph butterflies and set helium balloons free to disappear into the clouds. I wanted to watch him fill his plastic pool with pollywogs and giggle with complete delight when he caught a running chicken. All I could do was sit in the dark and feel the tears fall. ...They were hot. It seemed so odd. Everything about me was so cold; the house, the air outside, my hands, my heart. Yet as the tears fell down my cheeks, they were hot.

I stood, and walked to the door again. I peered through the side windows for some sign of his return. Perhaps, unable to sleep, he'd just gone for a walk. I flicked on the porch light and resolved to leave it on until he was home again. It would remain on a long, long time."

The porch light has been turned off many years, now. He did come home. We've had some rocky times, to be sure. He made his life so much harder than it needed to be. But, he found his way. He has mended most of the dreams I had for him that had been tattered so long. (I'd still like him to find a woman to love and protect.) And he is keeping his promise. Not a promise made to me, or to the universe, or to God. His promise. The promise of what he could be. He's a beautiful, generous, intelligent, caring, magical, young man. And I am SO HAPPY that he is downstairs this very minute watching some boring sport program. All is well