Kids

Every night, as I sit beside Jeremiah in his bed, we talk over his day.

We usually cover significant events of the day, the weather, upcoming events, and what is “stuck in his head.”

He sometimes gets preoccupied with certain thoughts, which can lead to trouble, such as the fire he started in our church three and a half years ago.

“Anything else you thinking about, Buddy? What else are you thinking about lately?”

“It’s going to be my birthday pretty soon.”


“That’s right! What do you want for your birthday?”

“I dunno... There are a lot of things... but they cost a lot of money... but I can save up for them.”

“Sure! Hey, I know! I’m going to go down to the river and find a nice round rock and paint it! That will make a good present!! What color would you like? Purple? Red? Yellow?”

“I don’t want no rock!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Well. I’ll just have to think about it some and see if I can come up with a good present for you... though it would be hard to do better than a painted rock!”

“I don’t want no rock!”

“OK, OK! Well, what else is going on in that noggin of yours?”

“I dreamt of Rocky last night. I miss that dog.”

“I know...”

“And I dreamt about Mom... But... that’s what happens sometimes. It’s OK.”

“Yeah, it’s OK. I’m here, and I love you, and I will always make sure you are safe and as happy as can be.”

That is the conversation almost every night. Every night.

The details about birthdays might be replaced with New Year’s, or Christmas, or Independence Day, but, every night... he misses his mom and his dog.

I wish I could heal that hurt.

Isaac thinks about it too... but he refuses to talk about it.

Isaac is 18. Jeremiah will be 20 in a few weeks.

They are children. Always will be.

My children.

If I could give them some of my mind I would do it. Make it so they could find their way a little easier...

Still, they are wonderful as they are.

I spoke with my mom tonight. She is worried about me going to Thailand this Summer. She’s afraid my father will be a bad influence on me. She has a point... but I’m too different from him to succumb to his carnal influences.

I will always be her child, I suppose.

I’m anxious about my boys. I am charged with their care, and I must find Jeremiah a place to live by June if he is to be cared for all his life. A part of me wants him near always. I won’t live always, so it is best I figure this out and find him a place...

Isaac asks his questions sometimes... (Tonight was: “Dad, why do you get diarrhea when you drink a lot of juice sometimes?”) But he doesn’t talk about the things that hurt.

This awkward place I’m in... trying to do my best for my children... I want to help them. But there are things I cannot do. I cannot make Isaac share what is really bothering him. I cannot prevent dreams of a dead dog and a missing mother from entering Jeremiah’s sleep.

I can only do what I can do.

I think I’ll find a nice four or five pound rock and paint it yellow.