We’re all checked in for our flight tomorrow. I’m supposed to leave here early in the morning to drive up to my brother’s house where I’m meeting up with two of my sisters. From there we are driving into Chicago where our flight leaves from Midway in the early afternoon. Once arriving in Albany, New York, we rent a car and drive down toward Poughkeepsie where my grandma is staying for a week in an assisted living facility.

They have respite care through hospice which she’s been on for several years. There was some drama at one point where the family members are no longer allowed to visit at the house. If there is time Friday evening we’ll stop by to see her then before returning to the hotel and coming back in the morning to spend most of the day with her. Sunday we will have half the day before driving back through some old places.

I didn’t go to class tonight and told them I wouldn’t be there for internship Monday. Mom and Dad are driving over and meeting us there on Sunday night. I mentioned bringing swim attire in case we get a chance to swim at the hotels or find a hot tub. The laundry is in the dryer so when that’s done I’ll pack my clothes. There isn’t much I have to do because people here are pretty self-sufficient. I filled the van up on Wednesday.

I’ll come up with any dumb excuse I can think of to talk to him, anything that might be of possible interest or a point of connection. Actually I don’t do that as much anymore now, but I still catch myself doing it and filtering the occurrences. Last time it was when my so came home after running four miles in practice. He’d ran four miles. He (my son) told me, and once that conversation was over the first thing I wanted to do was tell him (my other son).

Even though I knew they’d probably talk about it later. “Judah ran four miles in practice today”, just out of the blue a text about that. It got me about two exchanges worth, and I considered that a success and a win. It could’ve waited. I didn’t have to say it. I could’ve just let them talk about it later. Tuesday night as I got into the minivan, I heard the vice-presidential debate beginning on the radio. Whose was this man’s voice so clear and well-spoken?

I had started to drive, backing out of my parking spot. I wouldn’t text, but I could call. But would I really? The calling part is a little weird, but I’ve done it. I still remember the days of phone calls where we tied up our parents’ line for hours on end. He told me his mother had asked “Do you love her?” We were trying to decide whether or not we did. I thought that was just a little bit much and nobody had to be thinking about those deeper things yet.

I decided not to call, but to check in later when I got home. I stopped at the street and picked up my phone to hit play. He’d sent a text, at 8:02, just then, “Vice presidential debate is happening now”. It wasn’t just me. I mean, it was, he didn’t send that text to his dad. And I was happy again because that’s what happens when he thinks of me, when I again get evidence that our connection was real, that he too associates those things with me.

“Dad, you never told me I was beautiful”. We were in the kitchen of the Hoytleton teacherage, with two small kids at the time. I’d been talking to mom about it and she went with me to say it. My wedding day. Any of those other stupid dances. Like, just, any time at all, did you ever think it? He stuttered for a while until he finally said, “uh, I mean, I think you’re a wonderful mother.” My mom and I looked at each other amused and shocked.

It’s fine. It really is. We put too much on our parents sometimes, expect too much or give them too much power. I used to long for his recognition, for him to see I was the most like him, his soulmate daughter. One time I put something on Facebook just slightly defending Barack Obama…And I deleted every picture and every post I’d made for months. My profile went blank which matched exactly how I felt. I could erase myself again.

Every so often there’s some worldly advice that makes a positive difference in my life. “Stop emotionally investing in people who aren’t choosing you.” In this particular case it had to do with my son, the power I was giving him to impact my emotions. This didn’t need to be rejection, it could just be space, that healthy separation that needed to happen between me and him. It feels like loss, and it is, but you also get to love them more this way.

They’ve been named “the hot mess group” and everyone (Dad and Elianna) knows what that means when I come home and talk about it. It’s the group with the “K-1-2” kids. There’s a women in my class who is actually going to school for just this age. It used to be two groups with the boys and girls separated, then I decided to try the K-1-2 kids all together to only have one group with those particular problems.

But another family moved in and more kids have come now. It’s too many to have altogether so we are back to one for boys and one for girls. The supervisor was fine with me ditching the K-1-2 groups but then I felt bad because they do seem to like and look forward to group. The others are calmer. One with preteen/younger teen girls, the one with older elementary girls, and the two kids I meet with individually. There was a preteen/younger teen boy group but I came back one weekend and one of the boys had unexpectedly moved.

The other one is supposed to move in the next two weeks. My heart felt sad and even now I could cry thinking about it with the stark realization that I am going to miss them, and already have when they moved. His sweet voice that hasn’t yet changed. His face that has already seen too much but what else? I gave him a notebook and a colored pen to pick out. The older girls got one too. I am out of time right now.