Sunday, March 4, 2018
Slice #4- When They Don't Come Home
Yes, they are 22 and 24, definitely adults.
But they live in my house.
And when I wake up in the morning and they aren't there, I am terrified.
I imagine all sorts of scary possibilities.
Son #1 has a new girlfriend. On Friday night, I am out to dinner with a friend and he texts me.
Going over to M's house. Don't text or call me.
I'm a keep-your-phone-in-your-purse kind of gal when I'm at the dinner table, so I don't see the text for an hour.
I text back. Thanks. Have fun and be safe. Love you.
He doesn't respond. That doesn't surprise me.
He is not home when I go to bed.
Or when I wake up at 4.
I wonder where he might be.
I assume no news is good news.
I haven't heard from the hospital, or the police, or the county jail, so I hope he's not dead or incarcerated.
But last week, a teacher in my district lost her 24-year-old daughter to a drunk driver.
And at least once a week, I read about an incident involving young African American males and the police.
And I am terrified.
I wait until 7:30, then text him.
I know you are an adult. And I know you had a date last night. Even so, if you are going to be gone all night, I would appreciate a text that you are safe, but not coming home.
A few minutes later, my phone dings.
Alright, imma stop by work to get my oil changed.
Phew. OK again.
And once again, I wish my boys had a dad.
Parenting adult children is the hardest thing I have ever done.