Brother is home. His first act as a newly free man was to make breakfast - sausage and eggs. He says he was browning the sausage, and got impatient, so he just threw the eggs in with the sausage. But the skillet was way too hot for the eggs, so they got scorched. "It's okay, though, they'll still be good," he said. Then he told me how, when he'd attempted to salt his meal, the lid to the salt shaker came off. "It'll be fine, though, can't be any worse than what I'm used to."
Momma's got apple pie and chicken stew. We're all full of tentative joy and desperate hope. (For Brother, not the meal. We know the meal will be good.)
If I were the praying type, I'd hit my knees right now and beg. Oh please let this have been the lesson he needed. Please let him understand that he has to do the right thing now. Please let him want to make good choices.
Please let this be the first day of the rest of his life, a life full of good things and happiness and accomplishments like getting a job and a GED and a place of his own and a life he's happy to live.
Please let this be my Brother again. My parents' son. Our family, whole. Please let the fear of brokenness be gone for good.