Tonight’s remembering

Where do I begin?

I’m sad tonight. I feel a tremendous loss. I’ve no one to talk to, because I’d violate some code of silence cast over us.  Someday, I pray, I’ll understand the why. But tonight? Tonight I grieve. Tonight I wipe the spontaneous tears away and pretend nothing – no one – was lost. I’ll push away those nagging thoughts that insist it’s pride that got us here, that keeps us here. Time is a delicate, precious commodity. It doesn’t replenish. It doesn’t stop. Tomorrow,  it may be too late. Tomorrow may never be. So I weep for what was… alone.

Tsunami power

It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged.  Sometimes it’s just too soon to share the magnitude of hurt. Until now, I couldn’t even gather the words.

He’s gone. Off to pursue his future without us in it.

It’s part of this new family situation – you know, the one where every kid has a second family? Read that as escape plan. Gone are the days of trying to figure out how to live under a parent’s rules and expectations. Don’t like the pressure? Can’t handle responsibility?  Run.

And that’s exactly what my son did.  He didn’t like the requirements for maintaining his GPA. He didn’t want scrutiny on his company influences. And, ultimately,  he didn’t want us to monitor his comings and goings. So, he simply left for school and disappeared.

We called for help – spoke at length to police dispatched. Apparently, they don’t actively search for runaways. It’s not considered eminent danger, and though we may sit up worrying about where he might be, there’s no urgency in alerting the world our child is missing. He’s just another child in angst who skipped out on his family.

And when he made it to school, they removed him from the “list,” but no one detained him from leaving again, and again not coming home.  The weekend went by, with him on the runaway record again. And then, a call. Unlisted number. I answered it on a premonition. Police. “Is your son missing?” 

My heart dropped. “Yes.”

“We’ve found him.”

I pray: Speak faster. Clarify. Where’s my child? Is he ok?

“He’s here with us…fighting… come get him.”

And then, a tsunami. Picked up. Momentous wave. Dropped off. Crashing waters. Do not pass go. The tide recedes.


Out of sight, but not out of mind. Perhaps he’s better, happier with his other half. Maybe it’s selfish to think with us is best. 

But how do you let go when every day she asks, “Apple, home?” and this home is no longer his?

Weather Heat Advisory: 105

Thirty minutes filling balloons for 5 minutes of explosive fun and wet relief.

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Sincerely sixteen

I’m told boys don’t have sweet sixteens. Anything considered sweet is feminine,  and right now there is no place for a heterosexual young man to harbor female traits.  Hubs assures me (repeatedly ) that men, boys, and male babies are never to be referred to as cute, either.  So, I committed a foul when I wished our son Happy Sweet Sixteen on the morning of his birthday.

But truly,  the day did arrive like a candy treat worth savoring. Sixteen has to be better than fifteen.

It has been a long year.  There has been more discord and more defiance. More punishment,  more deprivation. More challenge and more secrecy.
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At times I’ve wanted to call it quits and admit defeat. I’m just the step mom. I’ve no control, only opinion. And in his heart, his mother is someone else.  If I overstep, I cease to exist.

Yet he is my son. I pray for his success. I mourn his failures. I contemplate how to help him achieve,  to make difficulty disappear. I hold expectations high.

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I love him. Through his struggle to become the man he wants to be, I love him.  I didn’t carry him, or labor to deliver him in 1999. But I carry him now in my heart and I labor to keep him safe, give him a home, and prepare him for a prosperous future. I stepped up to be mom.

Boys, boys, boys!

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w IMG0036For days, the boys had been plotting a photo session. They’d picked out and pressed coordinating shirts and jeans. They’d debated the use of hats and who would wear what color. And they’d requested my assistance in selecting a location.

Feeling a bit under the weather – which had become all to common this December – I finally agreed to their shoot. We bundled up, fighting the deceptively cold air that contradicted the reported temperatures.

The boys shed their coats and stood awkwardly next to each other waiting for direction. And it took a bit of coaxing to get each into positions that looked comfortable. It took longer, still, to persuade them to “think warm” and relax tensed faces.

There were only a few shots of each of my guys, but I think their personalities are really featured. JD looks apprehensive – as though uncertain of his purpose in posing and unfamiliar with the camera. It’s no wonder, as I rarely get to capture him in pictures. Rico looks like he’s working on his “smooth operator” status. And Ya? Well, he’s showing his usual defiant, “I don’t want to be here” look.

Yes, these are my three gents.

Fifteen plus 6

Favorite color green
Favorite food everything except for Mac & Cheese
Favorite book Trip to Heissman Trophy
Favorite TV show Modern Family
Favorite team Team Rico
Favorite activity other than football? to mess with Ri
Current School Grade ten
Favorite subject technical drawing
Future career goal ball out (play football)
Quote “Chill.”
Favorite Song Rico’s Story
Favorite Movie Gridiron Gang
Clothing style jackets
Favorite sport to play football
Favorite sport to watch football
Favorite past time sleep
One wish: make everyone’s life peaceful

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