SLICE #26- Son #2

When I look back through my slices, I find many about Son #1. And only a few about Son #2. While that has not been a purposeful decision, I think it does represent the state of my relationship with my boys. My sons are very, very different, both in looks and in personality. Son #1 was much harder when I first adopted the boys- volatile, prone to kicking, throwing, breaking, screaming rages. Son #2 was quiet, withdrawn, really only expressing unhappiness each evening when I turned off his much loved Xbox and enforced my "only an hour of screen time and only after homework" rule. Over the years, however, it's been Son #1 who has become much more attached. Son #2 has remained silent, aloof, withdrawn. I haven't written as much about him because quite honestly, I'm never quite sure what to say. Despite ten years of trying and despite years of therapy, we are still really not all that connected. I've decided (and this may be a one day decision), then, to try to write a few slices about Son #2.

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July, 2012.
Sunday afternoon.
K and I are sitting outside the car wash,
waiting for his car to be detailed.
Last night, I returned from a whirlwind 48 hour road trip,
Launching Son #1 on his 900 mile journey to college.
It was a long drive.
I would have loved for Son #2 to ride along.
Would have loved the company
and the help driving. 
He, of course, refused.
Said he did not want to spend those long hours
in the car with me.
That was probably at least partly true.

More true, though,
I think
is the fact that K cannot bear
those long hours of saying goodbye
to his brother
best friend
half soul.

They have always been together
even when there was no one else.

I picture them
the year before they came to live with me
Six and seven years old
Forest green uniform shirts
khaki pants
laceless tennis shoes
standing on a corner
waiting for a ride
a block away from school
I am on my way home
and they are waiting
for their foster mom to pick them up
two hours after school has let out.

I picture them
that first summer
we were a family.
Every night
we read for half an hour
the boys would start out at opposite ends of the couch
but as the minutes ticked by
they would inch closer and closer
until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder
or sometimes laying on their bellies
one on top of the other.

And then I would put them to bed
under blue and red plaid comforters
in their L-shaped bunk beds
They would start out separately
But when I went to wake them up
they were almost always
curled tight against each other
together
against the darkness of the world.

They have always been together
even when there was no one else.

Nine years on the football field.
Son #1 a running back.
Son #2 the quarterback.
They are stars. 
Years of playing in the backyard
or on the street in front of the house
they know each other's rhythms perfectly.
When one, usually son #2, the quarterback,
goes down,
the other is right there
to pick him up
brush  him off
make sure he is safe.

In high school
most weekends
they set off
in the car
to "see some girls."
I do not like these nights
I worry
about parties
car wrecks and
drive by shootings
but I know the boys are
together
and they will take care of each other.

They have always been together
even when there was no one else.

But now
Son #1 is gone.
The silence
left by  the departure
 of my very quiet son
is huge.
An ache
extends from my stomach
all the way
to a lump in my throat
that makes it hard
for anything to pass.

I cannot imagine
the emptiness
Son #2 must be feeling.

They have always been together
even when there was no one else.

And so we sit at the car wash.
I do not have the right words
but I have spent ten years
trying to teach my boys
to feel.
And I know I need to somehow
acknowledge the grief
he must be feeling.

"I miss your brother so much
 I can hardly stand it," I say.
"I can't even imagine
how you must be feeling."

K has no words
he nods
and one tear
rolls down his cheek.