5 days and a wake up.

7 days and a wake-up.

I am still excited.

But I am also afraid.

His little brother who, at 15, is still all about family, doesn't get this at all. Actually, he is pretty freaked out about it and wants me to demand that Robert let us pick him up on Friday morning at 8:00 as planned. "He will be mad at first, but he will get over it," he said.

"But he is 23, Nic. A grown man. We can't make his decisions for him."

"Yes we can. He doesn't act as old as Eli and I do, and he's going to live with us."

Hmmmmmmm ...........

I think the kid has a point.

And yet,

I'm torn.

There's no place like home.

There's no place like home.

There's no place like home.

Well,

That is unless you are my son,

my son who has been alone for 18 months,

my son who now wants to come home on Saturday instead of Friday,

my son who suddenly finds it less important to see his family when he walks through those gates than to attend a party and play with his friends at work,

my son who only yesterday appeared to be becoming a man but today appears to be making decisions based on very little except what he wants for himself right this minute.

Every day his little brother reminds me of how many days we have left to wait; every day we talk about how we can help Robert to get his daughter back; every day I think about what we need to do first; every day except today.

Today, instead of "9 days and a wake-up," my son said, "Mom, I'm worried about us not picking Rob up on Friday;" today, instead of talking about Destiny being with her father, we are talking about whether or not we should leave her where she is for now; today, I am still thinking about what we need to do first, but the list has changed, because today my son has once again reminded me of who and what comes first in his life,

and it isn't us. 

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

10 DAYS AND A WAKE-UP!!!!!!!!!

11 days and a wake-up!

"Mom?"

"Yes, son?"

"I think that I might like to live here some day."

"In Fredericksburg? Why?"

"It is quiet. There are no reports of homicides, or gang activity, or anything like that. And it isn't busy like Virginia Beach."

"Well, I agree that it is a beautiful place, and you are a grown man who is capable of making his own decisions, so if that is what you want, I hope that you will be able to get home, get your daughter, get your parole completed, and return."

"That's my plan. And ............."

PAUSE

"Yes, son?"

"Red is here, too."

DING, DING, DING.

And there you have it, folks.

The real reason my son wants to return to Fredericksburg as quickly as possible -- A girl, a girl that he currently works with, a girl who he has mentioned a time or two in conversation, a girl who he talks to every night at 8:00.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. 

Me, Happy? Yes. I am.

Lillie is home -- still on breathing treatments, and not allowed to be around many people for 7-10 days, but home.

AND

Robert will be home in 16 days and a wake-up!

After Effects

That's what my words to you are -- after effects. They are those words that can only be given long after the best or worst has passed.

Like tomorrow, Sunday, our day to talk.

It will be a day filled with words of your niece, Lillie-Anna Michele.

It will be a day filled with words that will be three days past the pain of almost loosing her in the middle of the night, three days past your sister's frantic phone calls as she sat alone in a room filled with the sounds of machines, machines that were helping her 5 month old daughter to breathe, three days past a diagnosis of RSV and pneumonia in one whose lungs are still so young.

It will be a conversation of the fear that was raw three days ago, of the fear that remained strong for two days as we watched our precious granddaughter fight for every breath, fear that has calmed as Lillie's breathing has stabilized.

It will be a conversation of a fear that I can no longer convey to you in a way that will let you feel it as you should -- not now, not after your sister has finally slept, not after your nephew has finally been allowed to kiss his sister goodnight, not as we look down on this beautiful child who must still endure breathing treatments, doctors, and and IVs for several more days.

-- not now.

The doctor told your sister that had she not gotten Lillie to the emergency room when she did, she would have died.

Son, she would have died, and you wouldn't have been here.

Again.

Are You My Son?

Have you ever read the children's book, "Are you My Mother?" It is a tale of a baby bird who is separated from his mother and has no idea what she is like or how to find her.

I want to write an "Are You My Son?" version for adults who have been separated from their sons (mentally if not physically) as they work their way toward adulthood. For it is at this point in life that a mother has no idea from day-to-day what her son is like or how to find him.

Are you a mother of a male child? A male child who struggles to stay connected to a mother? Someone who has witnessed this phenomena?

What is it like in your world?

Sometimes it is easier to pretend

Perhaps part of the reason for my silence, for my inability to speak of you as your release date nears, is my fear of what will happen when you return.

The mask that I share with the world shows excitement, joy, pleasure. And I am all of these things -- I think.

Yes. I am all of those things.

Beneath the mask, though, down deep where more is hidden than shown, where I am less the mom and more the realist, I am worried, afraid, apprehensive.

Will you flourish here?

On the outside.

Will you stay here?

At home.

Will you learn to take the honest road?

Even if it is harder.

Will you still speak of your daughter with awe and respect?

When she cries all night.

Will you, son?

Will you?