Home!

 I am sure my son was surprised to get an immediate response to his text the other night letting me know that he was home. It was 2:00 a.m. after all. I was up, however, and wide awake, having awakened after only a couple hours of sleep. Not wanting to disturb my husband who would be getting up at 4:30, I had grabbed my phone and my book from my nightstand and, as quietly as I could, I had eased open our bedroom door and crept downstairs.

Our two cats, Benny and Penny, were curled up together on the recliner and didn't even bother to look up when I rudely turned on the light. I took a seat on the couch and wrapped myself in the warmth of the throw my sister had given us for Christmas. I alternated between reading my book and checking my phone, tracking my son's progress on Life360 as he drove home to Santa Barbara from LAX. At one point, he seemed to not be moving at all on 101. I assured myself it was a glitch in the app and not an indication that something had gone horribly wrong. Sure enough, a few minutes later he was shown to be making steady progress up the coast.

So, by the time my son texted me, I already knew he had safely made it home. I was happy, though, that he had thought to send a text, simply announcing, "Home!" I responded with a ❤ and decided that maybe it was now time to return to my bed and try to get a few hours of sleep.

My son may have been surprised his mother responded at 2:00 a.m., but he shouldn't have been. Making sure our kids are safe is just what mothers do.

#SOL23 Lessons Learned

It is tradition, I suppose, on this final day of the Slice of Life Story Challenge to reflect on the experience.

Over the last 30 days, this is what I've learned. . .

• that I still have things to say
• that the words may not always come easily, but they do come
• that faulty attempts are better than no attempt at all
• that I have much to be thankful for
• that I need to embrace, and not apologize for, my truths
• that not all truths need to be revealed to the outside world
• that the past is a source of my joy not sorrow
• that I can choose a different path
• that there are moments of joy tucked in the folds of each and every day
• that my writing has meaning even if others do not see it
• that I don't have all --or any-- of the answers, but I do know how to question
• that dark and stormy days are always followed by days of light and beauty . . . eventually
• that even when I am not writing, I am still a writer

I appreciate the friends, family, and fellow Slicers who have accompanied me on this journey. Thank you for your inspiration and your words of encouragement.

Filling the Emptiness

Even though the unstable weather caused me to wake up with a headache, I agreed to drive my son to school. It was an attempt, I suppose, to make up for the day before when I had failed to inform him of my intention to take him, and, before I could stop him, he ran out of the house to catch the bus. 

We were mostly quiet on the way, as we often are first thing in the morning, still waking up and lost in contemplation of the day ahead. He is always in charge of music, so I was pleased when he put on a Keith Urban song. It was ostensibly for me, but I've noticed lately that he sings along. 

It's a fairly short drive and within minutes I was pulling over to the curb in the drop-off lane to let him out. Usually, he takes the music with him when he exits the car, the resulting silence accentuating the emptiness that his absence leaves behind. But this morning, before he got out, he connected my phone and left me with music to accompany me home.

"Love you," he said as he swung the car door closed.

I watched him walk away, then pulled away from the curb, the sound of the music he had chosen, just for me this time, filling up the emptiness.

Getting Better

I must admit this morning I was feeling a bit grumbly. (Yes, I'm aware that's not a real word, but somehow it fits better than any real word could.) A conversation from last night kept replaying in my head, and I was not particularly liking its implications. The weather wasn't helping my mood any either. Another gray, drizzly day when it should be warm and sunny. Winter has turned out to be a big bully this year, chasing away spring every time it gently tries to make an appearance.

But I don't want to write about that. And I don't want to write about work and the three new students who will be added to my classes upon my return. And I definitely don't want to write about all the grading I should be doing right now, but really, really, REALLY don't want to.

So, instead I will write about a single text message I received a little while ago from my son, who is still three days away from his spring break. 

Love you mom hope your having a good day.

I wasn't, but it just got a whole lot better.

No Longer a Child

Today will be a day 

of anxious waiting. 

My child, 

who is no longer a child, 

is on a plane bound for Mexico.

I try to avoid the compulsive
checking of his flight status,

try not to think about 

dangers that could await him.

This is who I want him to be, 

young, bold, unafraid,

and yet. . .

I do not know  

how not to worry

how not to want to keep him close,

keep him safe.

I do not know 

how to be the mother 

of a child,

who is no longer a child.

Up Next: Breaking 5:00

I parked my car around the corner from the park where a large group of teens was gathered and pulled out my cell phone.

"I'm parked around the corner," I texted my son.

When I had driven past, it had looked like their run had concluded and they were in the midst of a team meeting. Knowing it could still be awhile, I opened up my Facebook app. I was happy to discover a new post by my son's distance running team. I was even happier when I saw that it included a picture of a part of the team and my son was in it. And he was smiling. A real, genuine smile. This is a rarity in pictures, so I actually zoomed in to verify, but there he was with the arm of a teammate draped around his shoulder and a big smile on his face.

I'm sure I had a smile on my face as well. A few years ago when my husband had started considering changing jobs, one of the things we both agreed on was the importance of staying local until our son graduated. High school can be hard enough without changing midstream and having to reestablish yourself with a new group of people. Seeing his smile as he posed with his teammates confirmed that we had made the right decision.

When my son got to the car, he had two pieces of paper, a box, and a t-shirt in his hands.

"Can you take these, please?" he asked.

"What are they?" I responded, taking hold of them as he eased his way into the car.

"Remember that awards banquet we didn't go to?" 

By now, I was able to see that the pieces of paper were indeed awards for his participation in cross country. Opening the box, I discovered a plaque recognizing my son for being Most Improved.

"I got my miler t-shirt," he added.

"Miler t-shirt?"

"Yeah, for running fast," he explained. He held it up so I could inspect the back. Listed were a bunch of times to "break." He pointed to the "Break 5:10," which he had done at the track meet last Friday.

I pointed to the "Break 5:00." 

"That's next," I said.

"Yeah," he answered. "It'll be easy."

It won't be easy, but I am confident he'll make it happen, probably sooner than later. And you can bet I'll be there at the finish line, cheering my heart out, when he does. 

Six Word Memoir

Even now, you're still with me.