It wasn’t just a phone call. It was hearing your voice and knowing you are safe on your trip and filled with joy and that you are grabbing life's challenges, even if your knees hurt and you had to get up at 4 a.m.
The phone call was a reaffirmation for us how much and how deeply we miss you when you are out of the house. Our crazy, kooky foursome is down to a trio, and the music just doesn't sound as good. But it's also knowing that your solo voice will fill the world with so much beauty and depth that, of course, we can't wait for you to leave the house. It's a paradox that even you with that big brain can never solve.
The phone call was hope that you will want to call us when you are 3,000 miles away, but will be so busy that you won't have time. In my mind's eye I already see you at school, and I want to cry out of sheer happiness because I know you will actively immerse yourself in the kaleidoscope of sights and sounds and wonders offered.
Yet, I want to hug you and tuck you into bed and make you chamomile tea and search your adorable bearded face for signs of my skinny baby with the big head and questioning blue eyes - a baby who went from a complex little boy to a compassionate, self-assured, kind, -- oh, so kind -- funny big man.
You had no way of knowing at the time, but that phone call you made has become my wish for you: that you should always stand strong on top of the mountain with the dark clouds below looking out to all that the world has to offer, knowing that your dad and I are always just a phone call away.