I turned around to see...

I turned around to see that there were tears forming in his eyelids…welling pools of more than I might ever fully understand. The sharp and direct, voice raising had done little to connect the dots of my message…that although I loved him deeply, that I would not tolerate such behavior—not ever. Not today or tomorrow. Not even next month.
Was it just a ‘stormy Monday’-hormonally-driven ‘grey rain’-and-dismal because ‘Wednesday’s worse and Thursday’s oh so sad…’ would I always take this mother-stand—this reactive, merciless intolerance?
How to break the habits formulated by the parenting inflicted upon my own childhood?
I winced away the image, those welling pools. I inhaled sharply. Deeply. I reached out, hugged him very close, looked him deeply in the eyes and reminded him, that I was sorry—that I loved him—inhaled again, sharply, and bared my chinked-armor—told him, that I was sad. Temporarily.
That I was human—that I had failed, and that things would be worse before they were better; but they would be better.
One day.
I turned around to see that he heard me. That he listened this time. Realizing that it was likely mood and not completely his behavior that had caused the cacophony of syllables to attack his little ears.
I looked upward, counted my blessings, wondered if the momentous doom, might ever cease rearing its ugly, spiky, little head. I turned around to see that by now, he was laughing. Playing with an action figure and singing Hendrix’ ‘Cross Town Traffic’ under his breath. I smirked. I wished for a moment, for that adolescent pendulum swing—right to left…sad to happy. I wished it were more like that, here, in the ‘real’ adult world.
Today as we had zipped through a quiet residential neighborhood in the heart of town, whistling the morning-edition-jingle & cajoling-the-beckons of my three-year-old nephew to 'wait' for his chocolate-with-rainbow-sprinkles donut, happily filled with a day’s possibility, I was struck with overwhelming, defeatist-sadness. Physically, I felt my heart plunge, deep into its center, or more likely, down to my knees and then past my toes.
There in the midst of bicycle-strewn-driveways, freshly bloomed cosmos, family-dogs, and foxglove's droopy-blush-pink-bells, was a disturbingly unwelcome, steely-red container.
It would seem only the devil's handiwork could possibly expend the energy to disperse the silky-woven-web of a family's whole life into the scattering of remnants, piled higher than the rigid, rectangular walls could muster strength to accommodate. FORECLOSURE, signed, sealed & permanently delivered.
Like a knife to the heart, there is no escaping this reality. When I turn around and look, it’s all that I see. Temporarily. For today.