We Are Sick

And as hard as I try, I cannot find the motivation to do anything but lay under the covers in the same positions I have seen my cat in. Things around here change every day, sometimes good changes, sometimes bad, but keeping up with it is never easy.

We spent the weekend cooped in the house because Dylan was grounded. Don't ask me what for, I promise you don't have time for it all. I tried hard to keep from organizing any activities or planning anything for us to do. We literally sat around the house, me thinking of all the things we could be doing, all the places we could be seeing. Meanwhile, he...well....

Yes, those are band-aids. No, he is not injured. Yes, that is a sombrero. No, we are not at a fiesta.

It seemed like Dylan being grounded was more punishment for me than it was for him. He was so mischevious the entire weekend and every time I turned around I was scolding him for something. Needless to say, by the time Sunday rolled around, I was at my wit's end.

Soooo....me being the pushover mom that I am, took him for a walk Sunday to the park a few minutes from our house. Everything was going well. I was sure he had learned the lesson that freedom was much better than being grounded.

I was sure he knew, right about this moment, that being out of the house was better than being in. And then...it started to rain. I called to him that we had to leave, that it was time to go quickly because the rain had started and .... "Dylan?! Dyllllaaaannnn?!"

Nowhere
to
be
found

So...in the rain, I start climbing. Up ladders, down slides, around the building, and through tunnels, yelling for Dylan. Finally, after all the other children have run home, I stand in the center of the playground. I have tears pouring down my face. I am thinking of all of the miserable things the person who took my precious son will do to him. I am holding his bright red jacket and favorite plaid hat. I spin around, scan the grounds one more time. I'm panicking and my heart is beating hard, out of my chest. I feel as lost as he is.

I see the equipment. My eyes scan through them. swing. slide. bars. mulch. No faces. Nowhere. None.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them, wider this time. I start walking around the building again. The playground is wedged between a church and a school and I am walking around the church in the mud and the rain. I hear a shuffle, turn my head as quickly as I can. I see his foot behind the air conditioning unit.

"Dylan. I see your foot. Come out of there right now."

And so, he appears. Cobwebs in his hair, a smile and smudge of mud on his round, brilliant face. I don't say a word as we hold hands and slop through the rain home.

I know I should have been angry. I know I should have told Dylan long, tragic stories of children who never saw their parents again. I know there is a lesson for Dylan in this that I should have addressed....but my relief left me speechless. After getting home, I stripped his wet clothes off him and put him in the bath. I washed the mud off his face and the cobwebs from his hair and I explained how terrified I was.

"I'm sorry mum. I wasn't ready to leave."



"Children require guidance and sympathy far more than instruction." -Annie Sullivan