It's been 90 Days Already?!

Well folks, I said I would check in from time to time. So today, April 12th, is officially the 90th day of my new leaf, turning over, in motion. On January 12th, my partners and I started off walking five days a week, One mile each time. Now we are at a full seven days a week, give or take a day off here and there for scheduled doctor appointments, unscheduled rain, and life. And each time, 1 1/2 miles are walked.

I am proud to say I can now walk on my own, without the constant fear and damned near probability of breath re-cessation being necessary. My breathing has calmed down to a softer and slower gasp, instead of the last breath gasping I demonstrated for most of the first two months of walking. And I can now say about six to eight words in between gasps instead of one. People are no longer walking past me rubber necking, whispering to themselves, wondering, just exactly when I will fall out, not if.

I have dropped about 80% of the sugar from my diet. I have no idea what my sugar reading would be, but I will know in a few weeks after my first doctor visit since all this began. I do know my blood pressure readings have dropped considerably. I am hoping to be able to come off some of my blood pressure medications during that visit as well.

I haven't lost near as much weight at this point as I had hoped that I would. But I know that I am healthier, and making wiser food choices. I have only lost eighteen pounds in that 90 days, and I still have so very far to go. Granted no one notices eighteen lost pounds on an elephant. But I can see very subtle differences in myself. How my clothes fit. The lost inches are rearranging my body shape.

But I am positive I can do this. My mind is set on achieving my goals. I have no intention of telling anyone what that goal is right now. It's still such a high number it scares the hell out of me. But I fully intend to tell everybody when I reach it.

I appreciate all the positive comments you folks pass my way. The encouragement is so very appreciated. I know this is possible, because I have ashamedly had to do this before. But it's been quite a few years, and many attempts, and this is the first time I have gotten this far in a long time. I used to look for every way possible to get out of exercising. Too much to do at work, too tired, my family needed me at home. You name it, I said it. But the fact of it is, my family does need me at home. They need me to take care of myself so I CAN be at home with them. So the goal is to keep going, until I get there. And I am.

Thanks for listening, thanks for supporting and I will see you all again in 90 more days.

♫ You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Song Is About You ♫...And Maybe It Is

I've always found, there is no better time to identify problems, and how things really are, than when people walk around seemingly oblivious to their part in what's happening. Kind of shake things up a bit. Because as a whole, people are vain. We are a vain and oblivious people. We choose to see things as we "think" they are, how we "want" them to be, and not how they truly are most times.

As I listen to parents and grandparents talk about our children, their children, I have to wonder how did it all become this way? We knew how to raise our children. I think for the most part, we followed the guidelines as closely as we knew how. And still, something just fell apart along the way. These young people just don't get it do they? We are the reason they are even here.

We gave them the strength and courage they needed to make it in this world. We encouraged, praised (probably too much truth be told) and worshiped the ground they walked on. We brag, hang hand drawn pictures on refrigerator doors, on office file cabinets for all the world to see. We talk about their ballet classes and recitals, their football and soccer games, their girlfriends, and their buddies.

When we're talking to our friends, co-workers, and even virtual strangers at times, we tend to leave out all the bad stuff. The smart aleck mouths, the rampant disrespect, the phone calls that come with less and less frequency, the grandchildren visits we're allowed only when it's convenient for them. We don't tell anyone that they are holding their affections, their attention, and the love of our grandchildren hostage. Hostage for when it suits them.

We do this because we are a society of taught and learned cover -up. What you don't say out loud, really isn't happening. People won't know we have failed somewhere along the way, if we don't point out the obvious kinks in our grand plan that developed over time. People won't know that our hearts are broke from the lack of compassion and respect we believe we earned, but don't seem to receive.

Well I'm hear to tell all of you. We're not to blame for their misperception of how life is supposed to work. We did our job, and in some cases, I think we did it too well.  We gave them so much, left them without any want of any kind, and now, they have no idea how to give back. If we didn't show them enough of one single thing, giving back was it. We did not show them that life is a give and take deal. We did not stress enough, that it's just as important to give as it is to receive.

Last night I read ten different posts on Face Book about people watching the Ten Commandments. All of them, so proud of themselves for watching a story that tells the real reason why we are all here. Praising themselves basically for following tradition and honoring the Lord. But did you listen? Did you really pay attention, or was it just cool to post so everyone would think.."you get it". 

And when you went to your Easter Sunday services today, and you came home and posted that on Face Book, were you really listening to what the preacher had to say today? Or were you more interested in your new Easter clothes, how many times someone told you how nice you looked, and how many times people remarked how precious your children are in their Sunday's finest?

Honor thy Mother and Father.

That's just one of the Commandments. Did you know that? Did any particular thoughts cross your mind as you watched your movie last night? The movie you watched in honor of  Jesus and how he died so you could live?  Now that you're here, and grown, and on your own, are we not what you think we should be? Are you ashamed of us and how we talk, dress and present ourselves? Do we not meet up to your sophisticated standards? Are we too "backwoods" for your uptown life?

My blog stories are not always popular. Mostly because I speak the truth, and the truth doesn't always feel so good. And this story isn't about everyone. Not even close. There are so many people who really do "get it", even in their pretty Easter clothes. There are so many people who do walk the walk and not just talk the talk.

But for those of you who make it all the way through this story, without clicking escape somewhere in the middle, because you refuse to continue to read the babbling's of a woman who doesn't know what the heck she's talking about...go ahead. When your neck and face feel like they're on fire, that's guilt. And better than that, it's your conscious. So do something about it. Remember where you came from and how you got here. Think of someone other than yourself. And show some respect for the folks that got you here. Because I promise you, today, Jesus is not the only one you need to give thanks.

♫ It'sThe Bare Necessities, the Simple Bare Necessities ♫

We don't own a lake house. We have a little house on Lowe Street. We don't have a dock. We have a drive way. We don't have a boat house. We have a boat shed. And we don't own rights to the lake itself. We just borrow the water. We do however cast a bunch of lines and reel in our fair share of catches. But we feed as many fish as we catch. That I can guarantee.

Good Friday weekend is coming up. Easter weekend. Zach is out school and we're taking a few days off work. We haven't taken the boat out all year. But it's coming out of retirement. I am SO ready to smell some lake water. Have my head and body baked by the sun. Turtles lining up on limbs in the water. Gators grunting their mating calls so loud it echos through the cuts in the quiet early mornings. Trucks and empty boat trailers lined up like slices of bread as their fisherman owners float the waters hoping for a good day. Sunrises that are so beautiful they remind of us just how simple life should really be, and how difficult we can make it.

As we lower the boat into the water, me in the truck, Mims behind me, half in the water, half out, directing me back, back and back some more as he guides it with the rope over to the dock and ties her down. I park the truck, walk to the dock, smelling the dewy grass and fishy lake water as I go. Walk the dock, grab a dock pole, climb in and Mims cranks up the boat. Slowly we crawl into the dark, quiet water, the cool breeze fanning our faces, heads tilted upwards, breathing it in as we go, and it begins.

Where do you want to start? I don't know, it doesn't matter, where do you want to start? I say where I would like to start. Mims says, well, I really didn't want to start there. I say, well, go where you want to go. Mims says, no, if that's where you want to go we will. And so it goes.

We old people bicker. You know, not real fighting or arguing. That bickering that old people do, that constant back and forth that seems to be necessary to co-exist. We bicker about who has the best fishing spot, because of course HE does, he's in the front of the boat guiding it. I'm at the tail of the boat where he's already fished, so I'm not going to catch anything. He says we can swap, I can drive. I say, you know I can't drive and fish. I drive us into stumps and tree limbs.

The first sign of fish, he wants to drop anchor, I say, wait until we catch a few before we go to all that trouble. He believes in trolling, I say the constant motion scares the fish. And of course, he always punches the trolling pedal just when I was about to land the BIG ONE!

The live well is of course at the BACK of the boat where I sit. So when he 'out catches' me, as he says he ALWAYS does, I spend all my time, opening and shutting the live well.

I finally get sick of it and leave the door to the well open to where he can just turn around and toss his fiftieth fish directly in the well. Which inevitably leads to disaster at least once every fishing trip. I canNOT tell you how many times, I have felt a BIG one tugging my line, jumped up, (because everybody knows you can't catch a HUGE fish sitting down) only to land one foot in the well, have one foot still on the bed of the boat, which leads to an unbalance that has to be seen to believe. My body flails from side to side, trying not pitch myself face forward, and dancing around trying to make sure the catfish still swimming in the well don't slice open my foot with their fins. Which is of course, when Mims decides he can use the BIG BUCKET he has up at the front of the boat to toss his fish in so I won't have to get up and down shutting the well door anymore. Yeah.

Fishing with both my men is just outright dangerous. We don't do it often, for good reason. One is bream fishing, one is bass fishing and I am always caught in the middle. Literally. Twice, Zach has snapped his bass reel back, forgetting where I am, and his bait slapped me in the eye while his hook dug into my face. We had to move the boat to the other side of the lake. After all that hollering about life scars and dancing around in pain, in the boat, there were NO fish left around us I am sure.

More times than not though, we're fishing alone. And we fish some more. Quieter now. Because we're both tired. Tired of pulling my lines out of trees, which would have never happened had Mims paid more attention to me in the back of the boat, whipping around in trees and dodging limbs that I imagined to be loaded with hanging snakes.

Tired of HUGE catfish, would have been catches of the day I am sure, snapping my lines in two. And in some isolated cases, dragging the second half of my pole with them, my pink cork bobbing up and down in the water as they swim away and Mims of course, not able to make the boat go fast enough to catch up with them.

Tired of listening to the radio playing that damned 93.3 OLD COUNTRY music from the front of the boat. Slow, droning music that I thought was somewhat soothing at 6am, but now in the roasting hot sun at noon, listening to Hank William Sr. whine/sing  "Your Cheating Heart" is wracking my nerves.

But I'm ready for all of that by golly! I absolutely cannot wait for the smell of Banana Boat 50spf sun screen spray, green worms covered in dirt that smells like heaven in a cup, legs and feet that will have fifty new freckles by summers end, and sun glasses greasy from sweat and worm fingers.

I was dumping house trash this morning, walked outside, and what did I see but my two men, fixing up poles for next weekend. Red Neck style.  Each of them at the back of a truck. Tail gate down, bait and tackle boxes out, bent over, adding new lines and corks.  Suddenly, in that one snapshot photo, I was right there, in that boat, gliding across the water, ready for all the fun and chaos fishing brings. Hooks to the face and all.

♫ Cause it's the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your strife ♫........

When The Crazy Takes Over

I stumbled out of the bed, my eyes feeling as if they were glued shut. My mind roaring the words in my head, oh why cannot it not be Saturday?! Tripped over a pair of flip flops that had been kicked off in a strewn fashion the day before, fumbling to maintain my balance, bumped my knee on the foot board of the bed. As I grimaced and cursed under my breath, or maybe out loud, that time of the morning it's hard to tell what's happening, I rubbed the pain out of my knee and continued on to the bathroom for my morning shower. 

I stood in the hot pouring water, still struggling to stay awake as the warmness of the water streaming over my head and down my back, has lulled me into a soft sleepy state again. I wash and condition my hair, rinse and am ready to get out and begin my day. I open the curtain, reach for my towel, and there is only one. For my body. I forgot to get the towel for my wet dripping hair. As I walk from the bathroom, dripping water every step of the way, dripping into my eyes, blurring my vision, I am thinking..really? IS this really how it's going to be today? 

Later into the day, an email conversation between me and one of my "twin" sisters takes place.  

Me: "That's my life in a nutshell"
Kat: "ok..cheer up or is it THAT time?"
Me:  "Past--overdue--last Thursday..symptoms are still here...ALL OF THEM..that noticeable huh?
Kat: "VERY"
Me:  "LMAO, sorry. So tired..drug out..moody..all of it. IT either needs to happen ..or stop.
Kat:  "Don't apologize to me, I just hate I always miss the show down there..LOL
Me:  "I've been pretty good today, walking is helping me tremendously I think, almost negates the need for an anger management class...or medication ;)
Kat:  "May need to add a couple of laps"
Me:  "LOL, ya think? I was thinking I had this thing in control"
Kat: "Negative"

You know, I try. I really do. But it's just so hard. To maintain any manner of decorum when all that is going on. It's hard to shop at the grocery store. It's harder to restrain myself from taking my grocery cart and taking out half of the store because they are in my way, walking too slow, or can't make their child stop whining on aisles one through eight for Cocoa Puffs.  

Or to drive. Wanting to put my foot on the gas pedal, all the way to the floor, and roar down HWY 90, knocking other vehicles out of the way like bumper cars. Because few in Quincy knows what a blinker is made for, and although I always try and stay alert, in times like these, it's harder, and I end up slamming my neck into whiplash as some dumb you know what slings into the Dollar General parking lot on a dime, with little notice. Much less a DANG BLINKING SIGNAL.


It's a known fact that I am not allowed to possess any sharp objects during this time. No scissors, knives, forks, or bobby pins. Or cans of hairspray. There is a permanent dent on my bathroom door where I hurled a can in anger one morning. 

If I didn't have to go to work, there are those who would say, I shouldn't even be allowed into public. I know I cannot be the only one who feels as if they have actual water standing on their brain during this time. Sloshing around, clouding my judgement, making it hard to add 2 + 2 and not get 5. Throwing my balance off, making me feel as if my feet and legs belong to a newborn colt. 


And lastly, the times it not only makes me mean as hell, but seems to bring on the waterworks with it. I cry. At everything. Because the sun is shining too bright. Because I only have one blue sock when I need two. Because I forgot to make the coffee the night before. Because you used a 'tone' with me when I asked what you wanted for supper. Or simply because I should have got gas two days prior, but I pushed it to the limit and now, it's on empty, it's pouring down rain, and I got up fifteen minutes late. 

As I said earlier, it hasn't happened yet. As I get older, this has become more common. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn't. But I always know, it's still lurking around. Threatening to change my mood, my outlook on life, and take over my otherwise sugar sweet personality and turn me into a scary monster woman.  There are no chains, no straps, or duct tap that can contain this girl when she starts her ascent into crazy land. Just hang on tight, and wait for it to pass, or ..RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

The Paul Harvey "Rest of the Story"

You know, ever since my story "broke" last week I have been just stunned at the information that has just literally slammed into me. The drinking incident with my son from that Friday night was not over. Not the discussion part anyway. It seems, my posted story sent all kinds of folks into a tailspin. Adults and children alike. My son doesn't have a Face Book account anymore, his choice, so he didn't know. I have no idea how many people contacted my son, but I know they did. He was not very happy about my story. He told me that quite frankly, he thought that was a family matter. He didn't understand me writing it, or posting it, for everyone to see.

That following Sunday night, after the Friday  fishing trip, when he told me he didn't understand me posting that story, a lot more information came to light. Not about anyone else, just himself. I was stunned at the amount he admitted to drinking, and that it had happened almost every time I had allowed him to camp out at the Mine Hole. I had no more anger in me. I sat there and cried silent tears. I was scared to death. For the first time in a long time, I felt as if I had lost complete control of a situation. He is able to make day trips to the Mine Hole, but there will be no more overnight camping trips for quite awhile, if ever.

This is the way I see it. It was no longer a family matter once 15 boys, give or take the ones who did not participate, spent the night at that Mine Hole on more than one occasion and got drunk and stoned all night long. Once those boys thought it was cool to tell everybody and their brother, what they were doing, it was no longer a family matter. By texting your friends while it was happening, running your mouth in school the next week, and bragging to all your other friends, who told their friends, who told their friends. You all broke up your own party. Not me.

Maybe they were all worried I was going to "rat" them out. Nope. Not my job. My job is to raise my son. With the information I "leaked" and posted, I had hope more parents would make themselves aware. I have no idea if that has happened. If some of the parents didn't like my comments about enabling, I don't care. If people didn't like my comments about the church raising your child, again, I could care less. That's not the churches job. It's ours. In a weeks time, I have heard so many things about so many children and adults, I just as soon you didn't invite us to your churches anymore. They must be preaching things different from what I was raised to believe in and I don't care to be a part of any of that. I'm not sure which handbook I received for my parental duties, but mine feels right. I'd check the copyrights on some of those you have been reading.

I am not ashamed to tell any kid who gets in a vehicle that is insured under our names, that there will be no alcohol allowed in their bodies while they are in my vehicles. Whatever they are doing elsewhere in other places, other vehicles, I cannot control. Nor do I intend to try. If you don't want your child to hear that small speech from me, then he doesn't need to ride in a vehicle with my child.

My son told me he knew he was out of control and going down the wrong path. His Daddy said I needed to buy a breathalyzer. My son admitted, that if that was what would give us peace of mind, he deserved it. He caused it. He broke our trust, he knew he would have to earn it back. I haven't bought one. Simply because I believe in him that much.

I'm not a holy roller by any stretch of the imagination. Lord knows I have had my due and made my own mistakes. Drank too much and paid for it the next day. But I was OLD ENOUGH to make those decisions. I was of legal age to make those decisions. These kids are not. And I believe in a firm line of right and wrong.  All of these kids are good kids. I know this with all my heart. But they need good solid guidance. They need us to be firm. Be parents, not friends. Not right now. That will come later, when they are grown, and on their own, earning a good living, with family's of their own. Because we helped them to get there. Alive. 

And lastly, I'm not here to "clean up" Gadsden County. I'm not running for office. I'm not applying for position of Minister anywhere anytime soon. I don't qualify for any of the above. I'm too mouthy, my thoughts and opinions too radical at times, and my language needs a lot of cleaning up. I just want to spend the rest of my life watching my children become good adults. And they have to be here on earth for that to happen. I do not intend to bury a child of my own. Nor do I want to stand and watch you bury yours. And certainly not for anything I should have been able to prevent.  You know, everyone always says, if you ever hear something about my child, I want to know. The past weeks' events have really left me wondering, if that were ever really true. And that, makes me very sad.

Your Child Is Human, Wake Up and Believe It

You know, I don't write this blog to make up pretty stories. I don't write this blog to make you feel good. I write this blog to relieve my body, mind and soul of whatever it is that may be  weighing me down. And if in that process, you are able to draw something from what I say, or my words help you identify or become aware, then that's a plus for both of us.

Maybe I was the only one who didn't know. The only parent who wasn't aware. The only Mama who thought it wasn't happening with her child. I'm not blind to teenage life and all that entails. I'm not oblivious to peer pressure and teenage stress. I know that teenagers drinking alcohol underage is rampant. Yes, it is, even right here in Gadsden County. I know that smoking weed is also a regular past time for so many teenagers, also living in this county. I have heard names of kids that absolutely shock me in regards to both. But what I didn't know, didn't have a clue, was that my son, my baby boy, was partaking in some of these activities.

I'm very familiar with the bluff and run conversations. Where your kid is talking to you about who does what, how often, how drunk they get, where they get their weed from, etc. And they are talking to you so much, being so open, your mind never strolls to the oh so obvious horror, that they may doing these things as well. You know, just like on television, when they're trying to break a suspect. He gives up information voluntarily on someone else, to deflect the attention from himself. Yeah. That's about how it works. As I said, I'm very familiar with those methods. I was a teenager once. You do all you can to make your folks feel warm and fuzzy about what you're doing, then your rope remains loose, your options and amount of freedom become bigger.

Well, when they come home from a day of fishing, talking to you more than they have talked to you in weeks, voices louder than normal and over compensating with all of the above, you'd better get to looking. You'd better put your book down, turn the television off, forget about work, gather all of your attention and focus.

I lived with two alcoholics for the better part of my life. I know what drunk looks like in the beginning, the middle and the end. I know every sign there is to know. I know that every drinking man is a different one. There are mean and ugly ones, there are happy and good time Charlie ones. I know that different types of alcohol have different effects. I knew at ten years old, depending on what my Daddy "smelled" like when he came home, whether to stick around, or head to my bedroom and stay there. Beer made him happy, and liquor made him unfit to live with.

We're dealing with that day of fishing the best way we know how. I talked to him at length myself. Choosing to take the "I'm so disappointed" road, and of course, stress the obvious medically genetic reasons neither one of my children should ever take a drink. Their birth father is an alcoholic and their maternal grandfather is a recovering alcoholic. My husband, talked to him from his view of being a recovering alcoholic himself, sober 16 years now. The money he wasted on alcohol, the marriages that might have been different, and the time, the memories, he will never get back.

We both discussed in unison, although in separate conversations, that the trips to the beloved Mine Hole would stop if we could not trust him. That the friends he currently surrounds himself with, would have to change if we didn't see some changes. And that we would both be relentless in making sure he carried out our wishes. We discussed the laws, legal limits for drinking, and the repercussions for breaking those laws and getting caught. How expensive his vehicle insurance would be should he break those laws, lose his license and have to obtain insurance on his own once he gained he license back. And most importantly, the lives he would be putting into jeopardy. His own, and whomever he was unlucky enough to pass on the road in any state of mind other than sober.

And we discussed the phone call. Should he not choose to listen to anything we have said, that we expect a phone call for a ride home. With no reprisals.  There of course would be later conversations, but for that time, for that ride, just a thankful parent who would be so glad that her child at least had enough thought for himself and others.

The rest of you parents can handle your child any way you choose. I choose to handle mine with my eyes wide open. And I dare say this, if the school he attends should decide to administer "surprise" drug or alcohol tests, I would give my absolute permission. I also dare say, it wouldn't be a bad idea if they did. I'm publicially announcing there would be some wake up calls for many. And for all you regular church going people, I agree, church and God are a wonderful thing. But don't let the lights from the pulpit blind you. Don't let the preacher or minister do your work for you. Don't let that boy or girl of yours in their Sunday best's, disguise their everyday worst.''

And for the parents, who think, letting your children drink with you, or around you, in hopes of  minimizing what they do without you, I promise, you are oh so wrong.  All you're doing is encouraging the "like" and the "fake warmth" of it. Best to be careful and mindful of what you "help" with...lest the warmth they feel is that bright light leading and ascending into heaven. Are my words too harsh or scary? Dramatic? Maybe so, but they're real. The legal age limit is 21 years old for a reason.

Because you see, I have so many things that I wish for my child. He has so many things to do, and so many opportunities of which to take advantage. But he has to be here to do all of that. He has to be alive to accomplish anything. He has to be alive and sober, in order to live his life in the manner he was intended.

I signed on for that job when I became pregnant. And the minute I gave birth, the clock started ticking. The clock of responsibility and ownership of what I helped to bring into this world. My child may not like me much today. Hell, he sure probably didn't like me much last Friday night. But I love him. I love both of  my children with all my heart and soul. I have no shame and I do not hide from reality. No matter how ugly or uncomfortable it may be. And the rest, well it really just doesn't matter.

I will be sad and very disappointed if parents read this and don't at least question in their minds things they may have overlooked or missed. Eyes that looked too bright, voices too loud, eyes flooded with bloodshot, and speech mildly slurred. I know you all want to see your children into adulthood. It's our job to make sure that happens, with every single breath we take. Every single decision we make. One day I expect I will be my child's friend. But right now, I'm his Mama. And if that doesn't include friendship at this time of our lives, that's alright too. I'm just trying to keep him alive.

And Time Keeps Moving On

So many things were different about this visit. First off, I was alone. I decided to make this trip by myself. I desperately needed some time alone with my oldest son. He had an empty spot available in his Spring Break week, so I took it.

For months I had felt like we were drifting apart. Whether it was school, work or just simply life, it appeared to be happening. Phone conversations had dwindled to few, and were vastly empty and void of real talk when they happened.

He'll be twenty six years old in April. I'm not really sure what I expect of him.  He's not the little boy who cries for me anymore. He's not the teenager who neither asked for my opinion or used it. And yet, I still seem to need for him to be both of those people. In one breath I want him to be self sufficient and in another, I want him to need me. For something. For anything.

It was vastly apparent to me during this last visit that he really is, all grown up now. He washes his clothes, and dries them once. No re-drying, that wastes electricity. He turns out lights, keeps the air conditioner running at a minimum to conserve energy. He uses a towel more than once. He buys "the cheaper, but just as good as" brands of grocery items. He has a filter on his faucet, as bottled water is expensive. And his entire diet has seemed to have changed. To healthy, sugar free, fat free, foods. And he cooks. He made THE best meal for me while I was visiting. 

His apartment has two bedrooms so I stayed there with him instead of a hotel. Which makes for much more relaxed late night conversations in PJ's and no one worried about having to drive back across town. And we talked....about everything. His plans for his 4th year. His plans for after. His plans for summer break. And his plans just to get through the rest of this semester. The book he's writing for publication. His thesis. His need for simplicity. And his always need for structure.

He had initially thought his next step would be a PH.D program somewhere. But he's tired. Really tired of school. So now, he's considering with a great deal of seriousness, applying to teach English and writing in a foreign country after graduation. And I think, if truth be known, although I am very excited about that idea, and excited for him, a part of me knows, this next year, may very well be the last year I will be this close to him. In location and spirit.

When he left for college in Alabama, it was very hard. Seeing him only three to four times a year was just very hard. But moving to another country. Now that folks is a whole nother ball of wax. He's always wanted to travel. To see art and writing in the form of reality, not just from a book. To step outside of his own door and physically see the words used for beauty and hear the sounds he's only read about.

As I stood in his apartment complex parking lot, I found myself barely able to breathe. I was trying desperately not to cry and not succeeding very well. I knew full well I would see him several more times over the next year, but I had such a sense of finality in those moments. It's very hard to describe. It was painful, joyful, and an all of a sudden, full realization that things would never really be the same from that moment on.

I hugged his neck and cried. He hugged me tighter and I cried harder. I said I love you through choked tears and raspy breaths. I got in my truck, rolled the window down, waved good bye as I drove out, and continued to cry halfway through town. I stopped to fill up with gas, glancing at my face in the rear view mirror, and what a horror I was, with mascara dripping eyes.  Grabbed some tissues from the glove box, dried my eyes and my face, got out of the car, hitched up my pants, threw my shoulders back and pumped my gas.

All the way home, I replayed our trip, our conversations and listened to the two mixed CD's Josh made for me while I was there, to keep me occupied and awake on my drive home alone. I probably won't be able to listen to those CD's again for a few days. But you can guarantee when I can listen again, I will be right back there in Tuscaloosa, sitting on that couch with my son, laughing and talking, and living life in that moment in time.