He left without asking for much.
Crazy but I didn’t fear him leaving, I feared what he’d look like next time I saw him.
The sins of “fun” ages us faster than suns’ rays ever could, and I knew he had a craving for that kind of “fun”.
Sunday.
The day I have always set aside for thanking my heavenly Father…now an anniversary of when my prodigal son left home.
One week. Two weeks. Three weeks. Four weeks. All seemed to drag on. Then, in between taking a breath and blinking an eye, one month turned into eight.
I’d talked to him. Once or twice…each time ending in an argument. I asked him why he hadn’t called, a question I knew he could handle. Not like the underlining question which was too direct, “Why didn’t he love me…us?” His answer, he was happy and I would just ruin that for him.
As a child he expected fairness. I wanted to cry to him, just like he had to me. I wanted to tell him he ruined my happy and I expected fairness.
And I would’ve, had it not been for the dial tone.
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