The Hardest Decision

His ten-year old figure was a dark shadow trapped in the doorway. He almost floated in the hospital gown and sock slippers the counselor had given him. He begged me silently not to leave him there alone.

If I could have hidden myself in his tiny dorm room, become part of the spare wooden bed or a thread in his comforter, I would have. Wrapped myself around him to protect him from the place he most needed to be.

Even days later, during visiting hours, I would still yearn to touch him, his clothes,his hair. If he would have let me, I would have held him on my lap and rocked him, breathing in his smell, rubbing his head...consuming him.

Packing his bag had been agonizing. I was careful to include only what was allowed. No shoelaces, belts, drawstrings on any clothes. Even his glasses had to be handed over before bed each night and "checked out" the next morning. I was reminded of the tone the school psychologist used when she said, "He had a plan. We have to take this seriously."

He was allowed one picture of the family. I chose the one where we were all smiling...his oldest brother subduing him in a headlock. His ratty "blankey" fit right in the corner of the suitcase along with his toothbrush.

His bed at home remained unmade. In the morning I climbed into it and pushed my face into his pillow....willing his scent to conjure him. I wrapped myself in his blankets moaning...the loss so physical, so tangible it's as if I had gouged out a piece of my soul. I was hollow without him.

The phone calls were not enough to quench me. They only made the pain more acute. "The kids here scream a lot, Mom." He never told me he wanted to leave. He knew it wasn't up to me. Each phone call proved his bravery and maturity. "I make myself be happy here so they will let me go home."