Brain Fog

The night had been rough. How many hours of sleep had she gotten? Whatever it was, it was not nearly enough.  She paced in front of the large picture window cradling her three-month-old son, trying to get him to go to sleep.  She could hear the coffee machine brewing liquid energy from the kitchen, hoping it would give her strength to get through another day.   Her son’s big brown eyes stared back at her letting her know that he had no plans of napping anytime soon.

Her mind was listing out the list of chores she needed to get done when suddenly, from across the street, sounds of shouting grabbed her attention.  She and her husband had not lived in this neighborhood long enough to know most of their neighbors. They had met some but didn’t know anything about the family living directly across the street.  All she did know was that it was a slightly elderly couple raising their teenage son.  While most neighbors on their street were happy to stop and chat, these people stayed to themselves, barely speaking to anyone.

The neighbor’s son burst forth from the house in an angry rage! His mother, dressed in her bathrobe, quickly scuffled after him, pleading for him to listen.  Try as she might, she could not hear what they were saying.  No matter, the message was clear. In his anger the son jumped on his motorcycle and sped away.  His mom stood there for a while bewildered before finally retreating into the house.  She never saw any of them again.  The boy never returned.  A few months later the parents had abandoned the house.  As she looked down into her son’s sweet face she quietly prayed, “Please God, don’t let that happen to me and my son.”  And then she did the unthinkable. She blinked.

Nineteen years later she stood in her son’s empty bedroom finally understanding the emotions that other mother must have felt.  The relationship hadn’t been going well for a while now. Each year seemed to get progressively worse.  It started when he was about sixteen. In the mornings she would stop to give him a hug or a kiss on the head, but the more she did this the more he’d pull away until eventually he’d tell her to not touch him at all.  Conversations now felt forced or only when he needed something.  At first, she chalked it up to his becoming a teenager.  He was growing up and trying to navigate those waters.  Eventually he’d come around and they’d be back to talking about all sorts of things, as they had done before.  But things didn’t change. Eventually he just stopped talking to her at all.

Years passed before her of a time she used to know.  Trips to the museum and the zoo, birthday parties, hours poured over homework, and evenings where he would want to sit and talk about everything under the sun.  What had happened? Where had she gone wrong?  Eventually she’d have to come to terms with possibly never knowing. Her husband had been more at ease with their son’s moving out than she had been.  “It was time,” he’d said, “he’s a smart kid. He’ll figure things out. I wouldn’t worry too much.”  She knew he was right, but she worried anyway.

Now, here she was watching dust swirl and flow through the sunlight in his empty room.  Five days after their last fight one of his friends drove up with a truck to help move a lifetime of memories elsewhere.  He left no forwarding address and would not tell his parents where he had moved to.