Wishing for a Cell Phone
For the first time EVER, I wished that I had a cell phone on Friday. There wasn't a car accident, a crime scene, or any other "emergency" instead it was a very ordinary comment that made my heart break.On Friday I went to pick up my "littlest" brother from his first week-long camp. It was a four hour drive each way. As we were driving home he said, "I can't wait to see the sign!" I knew exactly what he meant. My mother had made several of them for me and my siblings over the years...they are bright and colorful banners that she hangs up over the kitchen cupboards just inside the doorway that proclaim "Welcome HOME!" or "We Missed You!" Everyone helps to color the giant bubble letters and write their own messages or drawings. Sometimes we use paints other times crayons or markers...we have even used the computer to generate these greetings. The banners are big and special...for birthdays or welcoming home. And he was excited to see what his first welcome home banner would be like.
I felt sick and wanted a cell phone. I knew that my mom had left for work before I started my journey and that she wasn't likely to be home before we got back. I knew that there had been no sign when I left. I wanted to call and tell them to make the biggest and best banner ever right now...but I had no way to get in touch with them, and I knew no one was home. That drive home became excruciatingly painful. Each mile coming closer to the potential let down. Each turn drawing us nearer to his disappointment. I wanted to stop. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to somehow prevent what seemed inevitable. I wanted to protect him but I didn't know how. I wanted to prep him for the possibility but I didn't have the words. Everything seemed so shallow and empty "too busy"... "all gone"... "at work"... "holiday weekend"... "didn't remember"...it all seemed to yell..."YOU DON'T MATTER!" so I was stunned into silence and I prayed. I held out hope that maybe someone would remember.
When we got home not only was there no banner but no one else was home. There were no shouts of greetings, no hugs that felt like football tackles, no songs, no jumping and no one to grab the suitcases and sleeping bags from his arms. The house was silent. The cupboards were bare. And there was no one to welcome him home. I don't think the hug I gave him made much difference. We still cried.
posted by Trisha @ 9:57 PM
