Letter to a Wandering Son

Dear Son,
Today it’s raining great big splotchy drops. Pelting hard. I’m sure the garden mom and I finished yesterday must be very happy to suck up the moisture, a time for renewal, and new growth. Wish you had been here to help us.

Right now you’re somewhere out there. In this vast expanse called Canada. Remember the holiday we took out West too many years ago? Visiting your sister in Edmonton, taking pictures of the Rockies and our gondola trip up Sulphur Mountain? You scared the crap out of me when you kept shaking the cage we were in as we climbed to 7,000 feet above Banff.

And later our hike on a nearby hill had me watching out for grizzlies. You laughing---afraid of nothing. Nor the pond we skinny-dipped in one day back in Ontario, saying it was full of snapping turtles. Remember our family picnics, tenting out, kite flying and visits to all-you-can-eat restaurants, and attending church? Now here is a poem for you:

Frozen Heart I Sure Have

Cold, cold like the snow
crystals on my skin
it’s freezing
and I can no longer
smell the flowers.

Bring the sun, son and make the freezing go away. Mom and I wish to smell the flowers once again. It’s been fifteen years since we’ve heard from you. And we miss you.

© Richard L. Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/

An Addendum:
I deliberately did not name my son, Scott, in this story, since there must also be many fathers and sons in the above situation of non-contact. They can fill in their own names. Remember sons and fathers, God forgives, and you must do the same for words said that caused a breakdown in regular communication. They can be stifling and possess long endurance. Cut the cords of anger or unforgiveness and pray, one for another. And one day a knock will come at the door, and you will be glad to say, “Son, quickly come in!”