patterns

Hi Sister,

I wanted to share something that happened on the way home, on the bus, before I think about the time that I spent with the kids.

Riding the bus means spending long periods of time in intimately close quarters with strangers.  I mean, we hear stories and exchange private stories, but we don't exchange names.  It's very particular.

So I met this woman who was traveling with her teenage son. At one point, we were standing near each other in a line in a station somewhere in the midwest.  We started the "Me too!" conversation.  We were both in our 50s, both homeschooling single moms, both moved a lot when young, both went to a lot of schools...I had a moment when I felt like I was meeting a more vivacious version of myself.  She sat behind me, with her son. A young man with a shaved head and heavily tattooed arms sat beside me. Across  from us were two young women returning for the beginning of their junior years at some university.

We were talking about nutrition and life and stuff, when the Mom's phone rang.  It was her oldest son, and he was freaking out. A friend had come to their house and stolen some items.  He was so distraught, we could all hear him.  Shewas trying to get him to breathe. He couldn't calm down,so she said she might need to call 911. He hung up on her, so she had her other son call him back.  He was doing a better job of getting the oldest to listen. convincing him that Mom was not going to call the cops on him.

Meanwhile, the young man next to me said Mom seemed just like his mom.  And his dad was a cop, so 911 was a goof idea.

The talk led to this young man talking about using hard drugs beginning at age 14. He was on his way to a rehab. The older son was also a heavy drinker/drug user.

All of this pain, all of this drama...can we ever escape?  It is everywhere.

And probably because I have been helping a playwright translate and edit a play, it suddenly struck me that this could be a play. The characters are trapped together, and stories unfold, and in Denver everyone changed to a southbound bus, while I raced to catch mine.  So I don't know how the story ended.

During the whole interaction, I noticed family patterns.  There is something so human about the way we process our pain. We feel so alone, but we really aren't...

I love you, I miss you...my youngest, our nephew and I will all volunteer at a music fest to raise money for water issues this weekend.  It should be fun. My oldest's partner will be performing. He whistles in some of his songs, which absolutely fascinates the baby.

Hope you have something fun and relaxing to do before you go fetch your boy!

Clare