My Kryptonite

Gangly teenaged boys will forever be my kryptonite.  Seeing them brings me to tears.  There's the one who took a whole flight of 5 stairs in a single leap as I entered a hotel on my way to a fundraiser.  There's the one I followed at the Mall of America who was wearing Mark's clothes and could have been my son from the back but for a couple of inches in height and bad posture.  There's the long-limbed one who checked me out at Target, his pimply face a familiar sight.  Their mothers don't know how lucky they are.  They get to see their sons mature into young men, to marry and maybe have kids of their own.  What I wouldn't give to see Mark as an adult, to see what he would have accomplished, who he would have been.

During the school year I learned to avoid doing errands on weekends when teenaged boys were out and about.  I only ventured out on weekdays when I knew they were all tucked away within school walls.  But now it's summer and they're everywhere, and I forget and find myself trying to control my breathing so I don't break down in public.  I'm only safe early in the morning when their teenaged selves are still asleep.  I'm looking forward to school starting again.

I miss my boy.  I miss him, miss him, miss him.  And no amount of missing will bring him back.