plopped herself down at their table.

So Lizard’s not going to be able to talk to them,

and they’re not going to want to talk to her.

Maybe she thought it was time

for her to spend an entire lunch period

without lecturing anybody

or bossing anybody

or making anybody

feel bad about anything.

Mom’s Coming Home on Monday

That’s what my dad tells me

after he visits her on Saturday morning.

The other times he visited her,

I was at school or rehearsal.

This time I was right here at home.

But I didn’t ask to go with him.

Even before my father told me,

“This isn’t a place for kids,”

I already knew that.

It’s not like I need Lizard,

or anybody else,

to tell me everything.

No Welcome Signs This Time

When my mom would come home

from one of her research trips,

my dad and I would make big signs.

His would say, welcome home, Kathleen!

Mine would say, welcome home, mom!

with each letter written with a different-colored marker,

and drawings of

hearts,

flowers,

smiley-faced suns,

shooting stars,

fireworks,

ice cream cones,

and rainbows.

This time neither of us

suggest making any

huge welcome-home banners.

This wasn’t that kind of a trip.

This isn’t that kind of a homecoming.

Confession

I have to admit

I don’t know what I feel

about my mom coming home.

I don’t know what I feel

about my mom,

period.

Part of me feels terrible

that she somehow knew

I really am happier

a lot of the time

when she’s not here.

But part of me feels angry

that she’s the kind of mom

who is so tense

and stressed

and anxious

and depressed

that she’d make

her kid feel happier

when she’s gone.

Part of me feels even angrier

that she didn’t care

how guilty I’d feel

for the rest of my life

if she left

forever.

Part of me feels desperately sad

that my mother was sad enough

to do this.

My father said depression and anxiety

are forms of mental illness,

and people shouldn’t be blamed

for them any more

than they should be blamed

for getting cancer.

Part of me feels scared.

What will I say when I see her?

What will I do?

What will she say when she sees me?

What will she do?

There are so many different parts of me

feeling so many different things.

And all the different things

feel horrible.

The One Thing That All of Me Knows

I wouldn’t be better off without my mom.

She lets me see there is a whole world out there

filled with people who speak different languages.

She shows me how important it is

to care about something bigger than yourself,

like studying dying languages

when they are still there to be studied.

She sees beauty in words.

She sees beauty in everything:

flowers