These past couple of weeks I have been in a bit of a dry spell.   There are stories I wish to write about, but I can’t seem to get out from under this boulder.  Yesterday, speaking of boulders, I smashed my finger trying to move one.  After the pain died down-I will be losing a nail-and after I stopped swearing, I went back and moved that damn boulder where I wanted it!  So there!  Now I need to put the boulder in my mind where I want it, or at least out of the way.  My finger is objecting, but I think I need to write about this.  I've decided to write a letter to my son.

You, my second son, had a birthday back on the 1^st of May.  The days leading up to it were ok, but I was a little down.  You see I did want to write about you, like I did the other boys.  But you are the child that fell, and fell hard.  You are the young man whose decisions have irrevocably damaged your life, and the lives of others as well.  I can only hope all will heal, but it has proven to be a long process, for everyone involved.  How could I write about this?  I didn’t have an answer.

Now we are well into May.  The lilacs are peaking right now.  It’s early for them, but wow, are they beautiful!  The yard smells wonderful.  

Chris, you came over the other day, and noted how the lilacs were about to bloom, too.  Last year at this time you were in jail.  This is your first spring in two years.  I have noticed that although you are still spinning your wheels, still lost, you notice the simple things in life and appreciate them.  While you were in jail, you used to write to me about the things you missed, and how it surprised you.  You missed the sun.  You rarely got outside, so for about a year the act of just sitting outside with the sun on your face was denied you. You missed crickets, you didn’t realize how much until one day last summer one got into the building somewhere, and you could hear it.  You told me you cried hearing the cricket, because it made you think of summer nights in the past, nights camping on the Island under the stars, or of the summer before when you pitched a tent in our yard and slept in it night after night, having friends over, Mom coming out with a flashlight to check on “things”(well, you WERE a teenager, after all, and I remember what I pulled in those days!!) and to tell you guys to “keep it down.”

I can recount dozens of moments like that, because you wrote them down in letters and sent them to me.  You became quite the poet, too, and began to draw, you were pretty good, too. 

Chris, you deserved your punishment, and I know it, although my heart is still loaded with tears.  Most of the time I keep them locked away, but sometimes the dam bursts and the flood ensues.  They are tears of mourning.  I mourn the lost opportunities for you, my son, and for me, too.  I do wonder sometimes, “If I had only seen this, noticed that, could I have changed your course?”  I wonder if there were opportunities presented to me, but missed, chances that had I only seen, could I have helped you Chris?    But when I take out the emotion and think it through logically, the answer comes back that it wasn’t really up to me!   I know now as a mother that kids begin to make decisions for themselves at a very young age, and we become more like guides.  We really don’t mold our kids as much as we show you, through example, and teach you, if you are open to it.  But whether it sinks in, whether you decide to use what we show and teach you is up to you. 

Chris, you are the son I had the hardest time reading.  You could snow me like none of the others, and still do sometimes, although I’m finally getting your “act!”  I am beginning to see glimmers of understanding happening within you.  Sometimes a ripple breaks the surface of your face and I can catch it if I’m quick.  I believe you will not commit this crime again, and you have learned your lesson about that.  You are an angry young man, but although there are times you can be destructive about dealing with it there are other times you find positive outlets.  You are in counseling and it does give you a place to talk with honesty. 

What gives me the most hope is how you find such pleasure in the simplest of things.  The scent of lilacs, the touch of the sun on your face, brings you happiness.  You have already learned one important lesson at a very young age, a lesson that takes most of us decades to get.  That the simple things in life are what matters most.  We adults have convoluted our lives and are fighting hard to get back to the simple things.  Chris, you’ve already got that, you are already there.   Maybe when you are stripped down to nothing you realize having nothing isn’t always a bad position to be in-it can be a new beginning.

Some of my toughest life lessons have come from you, Chris, and although there still many things that need to be worked out, over everything I love you.  I still hold out hope for you son, and I know you will find your way back to your path.  Things may get worse before they get better, but in the end I hope you will find calm for your restless soul.  I love you, Chris.  Mom