He never came home to his father’s house last night. He never arrived at school this morning. Keith….if you are reading this by any chance at all…please call me….I love you and I’m scared to death. Everything will be alright…but you have to come to me so I can help you.
Please call me Bucky….I’m going crazy.
Having just written the last post I wanted to definitely reflect on all that I rarely write about or say because despite the hardships and troubling moments, I am so blessed and I never lose sight of that…not ever.
Rick,
I love you. You amaze me. While there is no perfect, I think we’re so damned close. So damned close that the margin of error that we have is so insignificant that it’s nearly invisible.
Thanks for supporting my dreams, for encouraging me to be myself and for laughing at my insane jokes and glib remarks. Thanks for thinking you so got the catch because I know I did too. Thanks for forgiving me my faults and my mistakes and letting me struggle through things without interference or judgment. Thanks for “checking with the wife” and then for not getting mad and thereby letting me call your old boss and insist on retrieving your tools without checking with you first. Thanks for allowing me to be empowered as a woman. Thanks for living with my stacks of books and crazy piles of hair that seem to end up everywhere I go.
Thanks for making me dinner, putting the mirror on my dresser, taking Chloe on walks when I’m not home and letting her dig out her own bone from the bag because it makes me grin from ear to ear.
Thanks for the life you’ve built with me. It’s absolutely amazing and my time with you is a gift. A gift with a big bow on it. The kind of gift that you want to admire before you open it because the outside is just as lovely as anything that could be tucked safely within. Thanks for teaching me what a promise kept feels like. Thanks for allowing me to vent about every person that has hurt me in the past so that I can walk through life with you without being full of resentments and long harbored ill feelings. Thanks for insisting that I hug you back and not giving up on me. You put up with a lot and rarely complain.
I love you!
Kristy
Keith,
You’re the son I dreamt about having. You’re the one I thought about before you were born. You had your name long before you were ever mine. And you are more amazing than I ever hoped for.
Thank you for laughing with me, letting me say whatever I need to say and telling me things that most teenage boys might not tell their good old Mom’s. Thanks for helping me organize, telling me which shoes are the better pair and for forgiving me for everything I ever thought I could have done better by you. I will probably never feel like I deserve you, but I will always be grateful that you are my son.
I love you and I’m exceedingly proud of you. I think you’re the most unique person I’ve ever known and I love just as you are, just as you desire to be, and for always unconditionally.
Love,
Mom
Chloe,
People may laugh because we all know you can’t read. But I love you despite that flaw. Thanks for always being loyal and faithful and loving me with every bit of your bigger than body heart. Thanks for sitting with me when I study and laying with me when I’m tired or sick. And thanks for being willing to lick away Mommy’s tear’s even when they’re mixed in with makeup and gunk. People may laugh because we have our own language but my life is so much more because of little you.
Love,
Mommy
I remember his first birthday morning. I cried. I didn’t sob. I cried, because my baby would never technically be a baby again.
His first day at pre-school I got really choked up but managed to shed only a few stray tears. My toddler was a’goin to school and he would never be a mere playing like a fool toddler again. (ohh how I fondly remember how he would ask me for a hog gog every day after pre-school) A “hog gog” being a hot dog from this awesome place, Sheetz, in PA.
His first day of kindergarten happened when we moved to Florida. He was nearly 6 when he started school and he was all blue eyes and smiles and his backpack was twice the size of him it seemed. I cried that day too. A new state to live in, a new school to go to, and he took it all in stride.
I’ve cried many other moments and days since then.
But today he called me saying “Mom, Dad says that YOU have my birth certificate, and I need it so I can go to the DMV and file for my permit tomorrow.”
I will drive home tonight and take it over to his Dad’s house tonight and drop it in the mailbox because my baby needs it.
After I cry…just a few tears….or more. My baby took his written test and passed the first go around. My baby….*sob* My baby is old enough to drive a car.
Yesterday I took my son shopping for school clothes. He bought “skinny jeans” at a women’s store. There was a woman waiting for her daughter to try on the same pants. She asked me “Are you actually going to let your SON buy women’s jeans?” I glanced over at her and said, “Yes, and then later I’m going to buy him some female lingerie too!” She got up and moved away from me. I felt better when she left.
Some people have some major hang ups. I don’t care what my son wears, how he dyes his hair or whether or not people greet us as “Hello ladies” (as many of them did yesterday because he has prettier hair than I do.) I just want him to know he’s loved and accepted by Mom.
