When you woke up early on Monday and needed me, I didn’t know. It was the first day of your summer vacation and it was raining. You expect us to come for you on days you have no school. Xander had to be taken to horseback riding camp at 8:30. I arrived home at 9:45, paid the monthly bills and organized the overflowing file. You are writing my name in sidewalk chalk while the rain attempts to erase your efforts. At 11:00, I was vacuuming since Xander was not there to scream and run from the sound. You receive medication to calm since you punched a hole in your bedroom wall and won’t stop asking for Mom and Dad. At 12:00, Maya was checking on the tick she entombed in a container and hid in the bathroom closet. Last year I discovered one attached to her back on the first day of summer vacation. She believed the destruction of this one an omen which could prevent a loved one from dying again this year. Maya and I discussed life and death. You are screaming my name and bite the knee of a woman who works at your residence. At 1:00, I cleaned the cat box, fed the puppy, did two loads of laundry and made Spencer wake and shower. You print our names as well as those of family you haven’t seen in years on white sheets of paper. You scream and pound the kitchen table. Xander had to be picked up at 2:30 and we stopped at a convenience store so he could choose a snack in celebration of a successful first day of camp.It rained endlessly from an unreasonable June sky. You receive another dose of medication for aggression and property destruction at 3:30. Xander was pressing the same button on a toy with unwavering repetition while I was doing dishes.Spencer assembled and hung a new bathroom shelf and Maya wrote secrets in one of her journals. Eric was working at his new office in Syracuse. You call at 4:30 and ask to see Mom. I could hear your sadness before you whispered our names. Mundane plans were quickly discarded. Eric cancelled meetings to rush home. Spencer ran from a friend’s house to watch his siblings until his father arrived. I drive in the rain to you. My love. My little boy always. Rain is falling from your roof, dropping sporadically on the sodden leaves which lay drifted against the house you now live in. You run out surprised to see me even though you had been told I was coming. Your mouth opens and the laugh you have been holding hostage escapes. The sound of the rain becomes quiet as we walk to the van. An adventure in grocery shopping awaits us.