Last night Gary came home from a school dance, curled up on my bed and cried. From 2:00-3:00 am, I did nothing but hug him and rub his back. We didn't talk. I still don't know what caused the tears. This morning I sit and wonder what it would be like to be him. For 16 years he had a plan to leave on a mission when he turned 18. A year ago that plan changed, and now a new plan has yet to emerge. He's in the messy middle- Act 2 of the 3 Act play. It's the time where we flail and struggle. It's dreadfully uncomfortable. And if we are brave enough to stay and not run or numb- It's the time where we witness what we're truly capable of.
A place to see and be seen