13 Years

Every time I see a young man walking down the street, hood up, baggy jeans and tennis shoes, I slow down to see if it is you even though I know it can't be.

I look at their faces and into their eyes to see if I can see the same emptiness and brokenness I saw in your eyes the last time I saw you in front of that dilapidated house on that dark street in that drug infested, crime ridden neighborhood.

I can hear you say, "I love you, Ma." as you hugged me and walked back toward the house where she waited for you to bring in the milk and toilet paper and cigarettes that I didn't want to buy you. I hate that you smoke. Those two little girls didn't deserve to have to wait for milk for their cereal that I am sure was their dinner because their momma sold her food stamps for some weed and heroin to shoot in her arm. And I know you used the drugs, too. As much as I hate that you smoke, I hate it more that you are a drug addict. That your loyalty to her, your addiction and those girls landed you in a place far away from your family, especially your children.

And she has moved on to someone else who will buy her girls milk and let her get high while they finish their cereal for dinner. And she will tell herself that she saved your life that day she turned you in and maybe she did.

I like to believe that she did because even though it has been 2 years since we dropped off milk and cigarettes to you, you are in a place where you have a warm bed, and food and even though it is not the safest place at times for you because you can't keep your thoughts, words and hands to yourself, I know where you are. I don't have to wonder if you are out in the cold or ODing in an abandoned house in the city or lonely.

I know where you are is not where you want to be and you say you are ready to run hard away from the life you have known for 13 years, that you want your children to get to know their father, not in letters or phone calls, but in their lives, fully present and you want a lucrative job making honest money, building a home and life you and your children can be proud of....finally.

And I so hope and pray that that is true because I do not want to pass another young man with his hood up, in baggy jeans wearing tennis shoes wondering if it is you. I want to see you, standing in front of me wearing purpose and pride in who you are and Whose you are with your children next to you with a future before you and your family surrounding you.

I can not wait to see you as the man I prayed God would raise you up to be when I chose to have you. He chose you and I chose you and I hope this time you choose yourself, too.