"He tells me he is leaving on Monday. Today is Wednesday. Not enough time to prepare my heart, to even let this sink in. The reality that my son, who is barely sixteen, is leaving home for parts unknown. Well no, not totally unknown. I know the kid he is heading off with is a street-corner drug dealer. I know the town they say they are going to is a place where there are flophouses, drug parties, lost children. I picture him there, getting high, crashing on someone's couch, scrounging for bread in the morning.

"We hold a family dinner, a farewell of sorts. We gather in the kitchen, his sisters, his father, me, a family friend. His seven-year-old sister makes a farewell card. There is a picture of her kneeling with her head in her hands, black pencil tears streaming from her eyes. I feel a rush of anger. We baste the turkey. make mashed potatoes (his favorite) and set out the best china. He shows up stones. We try to concentrate on saying what needs to be said in this present moment. There may not be another time, so what is to be said must be said now. We love you. We will miss you. The door will always be open. We will be waiting for you to come home. We will be praying, always praying.

"I try to imagine what the next few months will be like. I cannot say goodbye forever, since I know my heart will not let me do that. Whatever I tell myself about getting on with life, I know I will be waiting. Holding my breath every time the phone rings. Listening for his steps on the porch."