I came to the town where both grown sons live. We got together for breakfast. All D talked about was a fantasy game he creates and plays with his friends. Reframing this whole thing and how i have thought of him, to understand there was nothing more in his mind taking up any space.

Geez, I cried for two years and he gave me no thought. Still, it meant the world to me to listen to whatever he was rambling on about. To see him, to look into each other’s eyes, it lifted the anguish I’ve been under so much. The foolishness of how it was everything to me (and why wouldn’t it be...this is my beloved son!), but it was (nothing?) to him. I risked my life in a pandemic to achieve this, and it was worth it.

Now I’ll socially isolate to not bring germs home to protect others. I won’t have to speak of the shyt storm that happened to anyone ever again.

Pain does heal, though scars may never fully fade. Miracles do happen. Perspectives change. It’s kinda funny that he really may have very little substance, but I never saw it. I gave others more credit than they deserved. That’s always been a fault of mine.