Shortly after moving here, Tim said we didn’t have to bother driving him to his AA meeting. He would take the bus, he’d done it before. Knowing it would be confusing taking the bus from our house instead of his, we thought it would be more of a bother tracking him down after he got lost.
We told him we’d drive him there. We had a birthday party for a friend’s one-year old to attend first but we’d take him with us, stay only one hour, and drive him straight to his meeting afterward.
He insisted he could take the bus. And he said, “I’ll have a friend bring me back.” Bring him back where? I wondered. To our house–or to his old apartment?
He’s a grown man, we didn’t want to come across as wardens, so we said okay. Before we left for the party, I showed him how to dial his friend’s number. He put a message on the machine asking for a ride home, ending, “I’m at my sister’s house. I’ll give you directions.”
When he (with help) hung up, I demanded, “How will you tell him to get here?”
Never one to use a sentence when a word will do, Tim said without concern, “Point.”
I wrote out “My name is Tim Reynolds. I live at–” (our address), gave our phone numbers–and for good measure, mentioned his one medication and his blood type. (He thinks it’s O-, which is possible; mine is) and slipped it into his wallet.
Jerry and I went to the party and I tried not to imagine where Tim might be. We decided to bring him home ourselves when the meeting was over, rather than leaving it up to Tim to “point” in some vague direction and trust someone willing to go hunting for our house with him would find us.
I took it for granted when we went to pick him up he wouldn’t be there.
Jerry and I pulled up at the church well before the meeting was due to end. Jerry went and peeked in a window while I held my breath. He came back to the car and said, “He’s there.” When Tim came out, there we were and he seemed to feel it was natural to climb in the car and let us drive him home.
It’s so hard letting our kids grow up.