Something less painful

Dec 4, 2007

On most days I pick up my son at his bus stop on the way home from work. Today was just such a day. On the way home Craig and I were talking about a visit to Morgantown during the summer of 2009.

We joked about who we wanted to see and who we didn’t particularly want to see. About places we’d like to visit and how we wouldn’t be sleeping in or just “wasting away” the day. This trip would be a mission. The objective would be to cram as much of home into a short visit as we could.

We were just chatting when he said “That’s when I’ll be starting college.”

I thought for a few seconds and replied “You could choose to go to school here.”

The silence screamed his intention to remain in West Virginia. It was deafening. I thought that my ears would surely begin to bleed.

As I thought about what this meant, about his not being with us, my eyes began to flood and I could no longer speak. I blinked rapidly while turning my eyes away from his and tried desperately to think of something else. Something less painful.

Like cancer,

or castration,

or death.

I cannot bear the thought of being so far away from him. My son, my little buddy is going to leave soon and the notion of it chokes me. I type because I cannot speak of it. It’s not that I refuse, it’s that I am incapable.

He came into our lives in the quiet of the early morning in our home on Arlington street in Morgantown. He was the greatest joy I had ever known. Will he now be the greatest pain I will ever suffer?

Time. Maybe time will help.

It must work quickly though.

There is little of it left.


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