Silent laughter shook my shoulders.
If it weren’t for school and a social life that already outpaced mine, I would’ve happily texted him all day. To anyone else, our messages probably looked ordinary. To me, they were proof that everything was still intact. That he was okay. That I hadn’t broken something by coming back here alone.
Leaving my nine-year-old in Toronto with his best friend’s family had felt necessary in the moment. Sensible, even. They’d welcomed him easily, like it wasn’t an imposition at all.
My head accepted that. My heart was slower to follow.
What if this dragged on longer than planned? What if he never quite settled, always a little too careful in someone else’s space?
I could see him hesitating before asking for what he needed, defaulting to yes when he meant no because he didn’t want to be difficult. Because he was awkward like me. I imagined him curled into a bed that didn’t smell like home. And the moments when he struggled, the ones no one else would notice, when he might reach for me out of habit and remember I wasn’t there.
That was the thought that weighed the most.
So I read every message twice. Took comfort in small details—what he ate, who he sat with, the casual way he told me about his day. Simple things, offered without effort.
So far, they’d kept the panic at bay.
Another text came through, my smile slipping as hospital monitors beeped their steady rhythm around me.
Jackson wants me to join his baseball team
Something about it didn’t sit right. Teams and baseball were fine, but Hunter had never shown interest, and his asthma usually kept him sidelined.
Do you want to play baseball?
His reply was immediate and honest. Not really but he’s my best friend I don’t wanna let him down
I guess you have a decision to make. I finally released the breath I’d been holding.
Wow thanks mom. best advice yet
The banter was easy, yet something nagged at me. Not once had he asked when I was coming home. He trusted that I’d do what needed doing. Trusted me even when I didn’t trust myself. Somehow, he understood that for now, this was where I was supposed to be.
How did a nine-year-old get so damn wise?
No baseball. But can I take a woodworking class this summer?
My smile widened. Woodworking?
Yeah. I wanna learn to build stuff. You could help since you’re already good at it.
That sounds awesome, bud. Warmth spread through my chest.
Cool :)
Cool. Now go finish your lunch, you hoodlum.
I sat there for a moment after the screen went dark, still smiling.
I was so damn lucky.
Hunter was the best kid I knew, and it had nothing to do with any exceptional parenting skills on my part. Raising him had been a long, messy experiment. Trial and error, every step of the way. On my own, there was no one to hand him off to when exhausted, no one to consult when I panicked, and no one else to blame when I screwed up.
And I screwed up a lot.
There were no instructions. No roadmap. Only instinct.
So I gave him all the love and kindness I could. Space to be exactly who he was. Those were the things I remembered most about my mom. Not rules or lectures, but how she made me feel safe.
