It is odd to talk to my son because neither of us speaks the language of the other. I do not speak French, nor he English. It’s a well meaning pantomime through a minefield. No colloquialisms, not slang, not even contractions. I have to write like a four year old, so the machine translation can reassemble it for him. And then it happens again, but it ends up in my lap.
Since he’s a kid he doesn’t follow the rules so I get gibberish, emoticons, and the occasional English word. It’s both heavenly and hellish.
Everything is in a state of flux.
And when he says goodnight, I can’t help but stare at the screen and silently weep.
I love you, son.
I can’t even imagine what that must be like. It’s been a long time coming.
I am glad part of your soul came back.
It’s like Humpty Dumpty in reverse.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men … just needed to read the damn directions…