Leaving Again

March 13th, 2024

She sat on the stoop of the front porch, watching her little boy ride his scooter down the driveway. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she stared at her son as he rolled toward the street. There is a slight bump in the asphalt where the driveway meets the road. That is his hint to stop the scooter. We don’t get a lot of traffic in our neighborhood, but sometimes drivers don’t notice a three-year-old heading in their direction.

It was late in the afternoon, and it was exceedingly warm for the time of year. A strong wind blew through the branches of the pine tree in the front yard, and our border collie sniffed around in the grass nearby. The sun was getting lower in the west. It looked like it wasn’t quite in the right place. It seemed to be slightly too far to the south, but then it’s only early March, and the spring equinox hasn’t even arrived.

Earlier, the woman had been busy packing a bag, while I had been watching over her son. I had to take her to the hospital. They had a bed waiting for her at 6:00 PM.

The young woman continued to watch her boy race around on the scooter, as he occasionally shouted, “Woohoo!”, or something like that. He would glance back at his mama and say, “Look at me! I’m going fast!”

Not taking her eyes from the boy, she asked me,

“How long do I have to stay away before I can come back?’

I replied, “I don’t know. You can’t live here until we can trust that you won’t have a relapse. Maybe a year.”

She exclaimed, “I’ve been blacklisted from all the sober living houses!”, and then she sobbed.

I told her, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Take one thing at a time. We have to get to through rehab first. Wherever you are, and whatever you are doing, we’ll make sure that you have time together with him.”

She kept looking at the little guy. She nodded. Her eyes were moist with tears.

Her son stopped riding the scooter, and he ran up to her. As she sat on the step, he threw his arms around her, and hugged her close. There was a trace of a smile on her lips, but the tears didn’t stop.

I looked at my phone. I told her, “We have to get ready to go.”

The little boy asked her, “Where are we going?’

She got up to go to the front door. “I’m going bye-bye.”

He asked, “Am I coming too?’

She smiled at him. “Yes, you’re coming.”

We got into the car. As we drove along the freeway, the boy asked his mom where she was going.

She told him, “I’m going away to live somewhere else.”

That answer did not satisfy him. She tried to explain. He still didn’t understand. That’s okay. I don’t understand either. None of us do.

I pulled up to the entrance to the hospital. She turned to the boy in his car seat and asked him to give her a kiss. He was asleep. So, she bent over toward him, and gave him a kiss instead.

She got out of the car.

She said to me as she walked away, “Thanks for taking me here.”

I replied, “I hope it all goes okay.”

She didn’t answer, and she didn’t look back.

I drove way while the little boy slept.