finding your way

I’ll never be able to explain it, how I felt the day
I thought you died.

Sounds dramatic, I know. That’s what you think.

But my heart was stuck in my throat and my hands tingled … you know, I’ve explained it before, how my fingers hurt when I’m so sad that nothing seems to be able to make it better.

That’s how I felt that day, the day
you were missing, stuck, wandering.

But it’s your story, and I’ll let you tell that part. You had the lead role, but meanwhile, I was playing a supporting role.
But I wasn’t acting. It felt so real. You were


I know you find it hard to believe and probably roll your eyes and say how ridiculous I am and how everything was alright. You were OK. You were coming home. It was just taking

But you knew you were OK. I did not. And the screams and the hurt and the wailing should’ve woken the kids and I still don’t know how it didn’t. And now I know it was premature and now I know you’re OK but I didn’t that day. For HOURS I thought you were


My head and my gut and my heart were playing games of tug-of-war and I was hysterical and the police wouldn’t answer the damn phone and you wouldn’t answer yours and your sister wouldn’t answer hers and I was too scared to call your mom.

We didn’t need her to be hysterical, too.

You’ll never know how hard I cried and how hard I cry now to know you’re OK but I didn’t know you were OK and it hurt so much and the pain was unbearable and I think that for sure, someday, this raw, horrible, knife-to-the-gut pain is going to surface again and I don’t want it to. I don’t deal well with being scared. Being hurt. Being thrust into a place so dark and horrifying that you just don’t know what to do.

It seems to stupid. So STUPID. Why, why, why do I let my mind go there?

But you were gone. You were GONE and in my mind you were not coming back and I lost it.

I need to not carry that kind of crushing pain in my heart and my soul. But I do. I worry and I love so much, with all my being. That just the simplest thought can derail me. Make me go to places I don’t want to go. Think things I don’t want to think.

And you’re here and I’m ecstatic. I heard your voice and I fell apart. When the phone rang, I didn’t want to answer. I was afraid of what I might hear on the other end.

But then it was you.

It was YOU.

It was better than every single best day rolled into one. You were back and you weren’t lost and you weren’t


I felt you were gone for a little more than two very long, dark hours. The moon brought you home. Or the police did. I’m still not sure. But you’re home and you’re not gone.

I don’t deal with life’s curves very well. I was more lost that night than you ever were.

I’m so glad I found you. I’m so glad I never lost you. I am overjoyed that you found your way home.


One thought on “finding your way

  1. I’m overjoyed I found my way home, too.

    I missed this. Why didn’t you tell me about it.

    Your story is great. I never wrote mine. 😦

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