There was a night, several years ago, when I had the most vivid, realistic dream, I have ever had.
In my dream, I held one of my toddler children in my arms. He wore an outfit that was my favorite at the time: red pants with a red and white striped shirt with red suspenders. I could feel the corduroy in my fingers. Sleepy, he nuzzled into my neck. I could smell his hair and breath. He whispered “My mommy” in the same voice I have recordings of. I rocked him. I sang to him, his favorite songs of the time. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word...” While I sang the phone rang. I didn’t answer because I was enjoying this moment with my son. But I blinked, and he was gone. All that was left in my lap were the pictures I have of him. I sobbed.
I woke, wiping tears from my eyes. My heart ached. I felt he was gone. I sat on the couch, fully awake, with tears streaming down my face that kept coming and coming. Why? What was wrong? Finally after several minutes I got on my computer. We hadn’t heard from him in several months Over the years I had learned where to look. I usually searched news stories and jail rosters, hoping to find him. On this night I did not.
The next morning, still feeling the anguish from the night before, I looked again, this time in a county that was just outside my normal search radius. If it wasn’t for the name listed I would not have recognized him. He was not the little boy in the pictures. He wasn’t even a shell of that child. The boy was truly gone, and in his place was a man I didn’t know. Several months later I would write about The Stranger in My Car. That was 3 1/2 years ago.
For three years he worked very hard, and did everything required of him. I went to family days at the treatment facility two hours away, and I was there for his graduation from the program. He lead several of his friends to treatment facilities. I was, and am, so proud of him for all his hard work. He called often to check in with me and remained close to his brothers.
But mother’s know things they can’t always explain, and I could feel the threads being pulled, ever so slowly, until one night there was another dream, and I knew. He knows that we love him. He knows we worry about him. I believe he doesn’t contact us for many reasons, including that feels he failed. He let us down. He wasn’t strong enough. He knows I will help anyone who wants true, genuine help without enabling them to continue in a destructive path. Most important, he knows I love him and there is another chance. He knows what he needs to do, he only needs to reach out before it is too late. I won’t ask questions because there are none to be answered. I will just stand by his side.
In my dream, I held one of my toddler children in my arms. He wore an outfit that was my favorite at the time: red pants with a red and white striped shirt with red suspenders. I could feel the corduroy in my fingers. Sleepy, he nuzzled into my neck. I could smell his hair and breath. He whispered “My mommy” in the same voice I have recordings of. I rocked him. I sang to him, his favorite songs of the time. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word...” While I sang the phone rang. I didn’t answer because I was enjoying this moment with my son. But I blinked, and he was gone. All that was left in my lap were the pictures I have of him. I sobbed.
I woke, wiping tears from my eyes. My heart ached. I felt he was gone. I sat on the couch, fully awake, with tears streaming down my face that kept coming and coming. Why? What was wrong? Finally after several minutes I got on my computer. We hadn’t heard from him in several months Over the years I had learned where to look. I usually searched news stories and jail rosters, hoping to find him. On this night I did not.
The next morning, still feeling the anguish from the night before, I looked again, this time in a county that was just outside my normal search radius. If it wasn’t for the name listed I would not have recognized him. He was not the little boy in the pictures. He wasn’t even a shell of that child. The boy was truly gone, and in his place was a man I didn’t know. Several months later I would write about The Stranger in My Car. That was 3 1/2 years ago.
For three years he worked very hard, and did everything required of him. I went to family days at the treatment facility two hours away, and I was there for his graduation from the program. He lead several of his friends to treatment facilities. I was, and am, so proud of him for all his hard work. He called often to check in with me and remained close to his brothers.
But mother’s know things they can’t always explain, and I could feel the threads being pulled, ever so slowly, until one night there was another dream, and I knew. He knows that we love him. He knows we worry about him. I believe he doesn’t contact us for many reasons, including that feels he failed. He let us down. He wasn’t strong enough. He knows I will help anyone who wants true, genuine help without enabling them to continue in a destructive path. Most important, he knows I love him and there is another chance. He knows what he needs to do, he only needs to reach out before it is too late. I won’t ask questions because there are none to be answered. I will just stand by his side.
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