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[written in July of ’07]

My son is off on an extended summer vacation. Originally he was supposed to go with my ex for one week during the Fourth of July, which he did. Then my parents asked if he’d like to come down to North Carolina for two weeks, one of which would be spent at the beach. Way back when they first broached the subject we were still living in Milton and he was still going through a lot of separation anxiety. When I took him to get enrolled in the public school there back in March he clung to my leg and sobbed because I couldn’t sit with him during the tests they needed to administer to gauge his comprehensive skill level. Then, about two months ago, we talked about it again and he suddenly got excited at the prospect and said he wanted to go.

The first week was okay. I missed him but I knew he’d be back shortly. Then we only had a few days together before my sister and her family picked him up on their way back from an upstate NY vacation. He immediately fell in with his cousins, whom he rarely talks to and sees even less. But within minutes he was building pillow forts with them and wrestling with my sister’s eight year old son. I got a hug and a kiss from him and left him to worry about their entire drive home.

In the beginning he was having a blast during the day but would become homesick at night. One night he called and asked if I would sing him to sleep over the phone and requested certain songs that I always sing each night we’re together. I hung up and cried. My heart ached for the longing to have my arm wrapped around his thin little body – warm against me – telling me over and over that he loves me all the way to God (who is everywhere, by the way, as he taps his heart). He may know how to push my buttons and I may get intensely fried from trying to keep him occupied at times but I do so love that little man.

Now I am starting a new job and my parents offered to keep him another two full weeks to let me get acclimated and to save the trouble of childcare until I start getting paid. I hemmed and hawed but knew he’d have a better time there than stuck at the Vietnamese woman’s house down the street day after day playing video games and watching teletubbies with the younger kids. I acquiessed and was silently heartbroken when he jumped on the chance to stay longer. I have started sleeping with the Winnie the Pooh blanket that was given to me when I was two weeks pregnant and he so recently stopped sleeping with.

I miss him. I have so much happening, so many changes, all in the most positive of directions. But there is a hole in my heart where my son should be. When he gets back I want to spoil him, get him excited to go to his new school and new aftercare Discovery Club. I want to plan a special birthday and just hug him until he pushes me away in his typical “I’m almost seven” exertion of independence. I have cherished my time alone with Don. I have had time to land this job and really plan for a much better future. But, yeah, I want him to come home.

“miss you like a child misses his blanket.”

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