It's almost like a death

I was seven years old when my sister, Linda, picked me up from school. I was in the first grade in Mrs. Parton's class. My father had died. Before I knew what was going on he was gone.

For years I've had dreams about my dad. In almost all of them I would see him and ask him where he's been all this time. I needed him and he was gone.

All through my childhood - especially my teenage years - I missed him terribly. Without him I floundered from one bad decision to another. I really missed him. I needed him. A son needs his dad.

It's a wonder I survived. Several of my friends did not.

No, it's not a wonder. It's the grace of God, the unmerited grace of God. There's simply no other way I could have been so blessed with such a great family.

That's why my son's leaving has been so hurtful. I didn't see it coming. Before I knew what was going on he was gone. It's almost like a death.

Before you think I'm being overly dramatic, try my shoes on for a while.

Raise a son. Nurse him through childhood diseases. Coach his Little League team. Homeschool him. Video tape him at seven years old giving a "sermon" at an event for the local home schoolers. Drive all over the state to watch him play basketball. Be a buddy to him. Watch him grow into a young man. Be proud of him for the man he is becoming, kind and gentle.

Then have him vanish in anger without so much as calling to let us know he's safe.

Watch his mother play and re-play his last message on the answering machine just so she can hear his voice.

Then tell me it's not almost like a death.

I know in all likelihood this is only a temporary situation. I have complete trust in God that Wes will be reconciled to his family.

But right now it's almost like a death.