The Letter From My Son
Days later, I sat on the porch swing, sipping lemonade a Guardian had left on my counter. My phone buzzed. A letter from my son arrived in the mail.
He wrote that he didn’t know how to face me getting older. That my struggle made him feel guilty, so he turned away.
I didn’t reply right away. But when I did, I told him I loved him. That I always would. But I also told him I’d found people who showed up when he didn’t.
He hasn’t visited yet. Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t.
But I’m not waiting anymore.
