Obviously, I don't go out of my way to talk to others about my son. It's been a weird day. My mom was the only person who remembered and called to see how I was doing earlier this evening. The call was appreciated, and proof of how a considerate person is supposed to act.

I knew Yvonne didn't care about me any longer when she knew how patriotic I am, yet she didn't contact me from Alberta after 9/11. I knew Jackie didn't care about me any longer when she knew how much teaching meant to me, yet she didn't contact me after my HHS gig was taken away. I don't believe Kari ever could have cared about me or else she wouldn't have tried everything in her power to destroy me the way she did.

Yet, not only did Mom call to make sure I was doing okay, but this weekend she let me know of some of the provisions in her recently-made will. Her stock portfolio is to be divided eight ways to each of her grandchildren... eight meaning Dawson is included, despite the fact that neither she nor I have met him yet. Mom's doing it the right way, too... the stock is to be put into an account with Kevin as trustee, and none of the kids will get any money until they are 25.

Meanwhile, I sit alone tonight with only my computer, my tv, a lit candle, and what's left of a pack of cigarettes for company. Those plus the latest artwork to grace my walls, this poster I framed after ordering it from allposters.com in February.

I certainly hope the clearing on my path comes this spring as predicted. In the meantime, I fantasize about the possibility of receiving soft kisses this weekend, regardless of how remote that possibility might be.