Lightning in a Bottle

This morning when I dropped Frank off at school, I was in a huge hurry. My ID badges at USAFA expire tomorrow, and after trying all day yesterday to get them renewed, and failing, I was determined today to make it happen. I wanted to be at the Community Center at 7:30 on the dot, when they opened.

I was impatient as we drove up to the front of the building. Several cars were in front of us in the carline and it seemed that each of the high schoolers were in no hurry to get out of the car so their parents could speed away to start their day. Still ten cars back, Frank started a conversation with me about something; I have no recollection what it was about. I'm not even sure I was listening at the time.

We inched forward and the song on the thousands-plus-absolute-favorite's playlist changed. Lightning in a Bottle by Summer Set. It immediately took me back to their concert at Summit Music Hall, where I was able to get another notch (or two) in my cool mom belt when Jess (the hot drummer who Frank had a massive crush on), sat down at the bar with me for a little girl talk. 

I closed my eyes, took about five deep breaths and reminded myself how fleeting this time with him is. Next year he will likely drive himself to school. Those precious mornings that give us an opportunity to connect, will be no more. Neither will the afternoon drive home, when I am the first line of fire for the summation of his day, good and bad.

We came close to the front of the line, close enough for Frank to get out of the car. He turned before he did, and told me he loved me, and reminded me to have a good day. It dawned on me that perhaps the teenagers I was cursing for their slowness earlier were doing the same thing before climbing out of their parents' car.

I looked up, one last glance at Frank before he disappeared into the building where he spends his weekdays, and noticed a group of students praying around the flag pole. Some days I drop Frank off too early to see them. Other days, like today, we arrive just in time to see them walking up, one by one, heads bowed, sometimes taking the hand of someone already standing there.

I don't know what they prayed about today, but every single time I see them, it takes me back to the Tuesday after Labor Day, after we lost three of our very precious boys. I remember how many students were crowded around that flagpole, so many of them in tears. I sobbed the whole way home that morning, and probably far into the day. 

The memory made me want to pull the car to the curb, throw it into park, and run to the door to hug Frank one more time before he went inside. I didn't. But I did call him, to tell him I was sorry I was distracted. He told me it was okay, and laughed a little. 

He has been teasing me lately, a new phase in our mother-son relationship. Calling mom out on her silliness. Yesterday I left my iPad at the hair salon; he rode over with me later to pick it up. 

"I can't believe I left this here," I mumbled walking up to the door. I didn't realize Frank was right behind me until I heard him say, "Here, DU. Not so hard to believe mom." Which made me laugh, out loud, because it was so unexpected. Which made him laugh. Soon we were both laughing . . . and it wasn't that it was that funny, it was just a shared memory of mom's forgetfulness, and the serendipity of arriving the next morning and finding my iPad sitting on the same bench I left it on during the previous day's swimming state finals. 

In a few minutes I'll go pick him up, and I'll play Lightning in a Bottle again, but this time intentionally. Because that's what this blog is. It's my way of capturing moments, those where we howl at the wind, thunder our joy, live life like a bolt of lightning, and throw our hearts in the air.