I miss this little boy so much that a chronic ache in my chest gnaws at me like an injury to the heart. In my old life he and I used to talk for hours. He called me his "best buddy." From time to time my sister has been thoughtful and good enough to fetch him from where ever he may be in town and sit him before her computer so that he and I can chat and see each other, though we are removed by half a continent plus an ocean.
Today, we enjoyed a 14-minute session using Windows Messenger Live, but the child would not sit still for a second to engage in small talk of any length. Getting him to share with me was like pulling teeth. That he was pleased to see me and hear my voice was evident, but perhaps my grainy and jerky image on the screen did not register in his reality as a connection to a living breathing person. It may not seem real enough for him to engage in conversation with. No matter, seeing him and hearing his laugh was good medicine for an aching heart.
Darn it, though, it was like trying to talk to a flea.
