Insomnia in a House I Love

I often write about how much I love my house, and early this am it became clear to me again. A dear friend was facing a hellish early morning event, and I found myself awake at 3 am, after just 3.5 hours of slumber...

He and his ex wife hired a drug intervention team to come fetch his son. The young man has had an awful time of it for the past year, and resisted all attempts at help. After meeting with school, law enforcement, and rehab experts, my friend became convinced he had to act, and fast.

The shock to the system involved 3 men coming to his house at 4 am, fetching the son, and taking him to a center in the middle of the Utah wilderness, where he'd stay for 60 days of therapy. I'm hopeful for my friend, but still, the thought of the "safe passage" crew effectively kidnapping his surly 17 year old, and the pleas for mercy and "another chance" that I knew would come, haunted me.

So I found myself sitting on my bedroom balcony, in the quiet of the wee hour.

Houses truly have spirits, and unique sounds and feelings. From the balcony, I heard the steady dripping of water condensed from the large clay tile roof, which leaves the concrete loggia wet after every temperature inversion. (It was cool yesterday and got warmer and more humid during the night).

I sat and listened, to the soft drip, drip, drip --like a drizzling rain.

It was so quiet at that hour. Usually on clear nights, I can see stars and planets, since we're less than a mile from Biscayne Bay to the East, and there's not too much light pollution.

But this morning it was cloudy, and I only saw a few lights in the sky. I watched a jet plane's lights come in, from over the Bay, coming from the Southeast. The plane was on approach to MIA, but I only heard it when it was nearly passing the house.

15 minutes later, another one came. I wondered whether either of these would be the 630am departure that would have my friend's boy on it, along with his three chaperones, headed to Las Vegas and then on to Utah.

A car drove past, slowly and quietly. I figured, at 330 am, it must be one of the neighbors' young adult kids returning from a late night of clubbing. No middle aged person in my neighborhood is out at that hour...

Inside, I heard Wifey breathe heavily, dreaming away, sleeping the deep sleep she's so blessed to enjoy most nights.

And then, at 430, came a text from my friend. I had texted him before, telling him I was awake, and available if he wanted to meet while the intervention folks gathered up his son...

The text said it had gone smoothly, albeit with some yelling. The troubled teen dressed while my friend and his ex wife said they loved him, and then beat a hasty retreat, as per the instructions of the professionals. In their experience, many of these life saving interventions fail at that point, when the teen reverts to a pathetic child, begging his loving parents "not to do this," that "he'd make it work, truly, this time."

And so I sat, in the darkness, counting the time with the quiet whispers of the approaching planes, and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

Another text came. My friend returned to his house, and his son was gone. There were "no signs of a struggle." My friend was going to shower and try to sleep a bit.

I tried, too, but sleep didn't come, so I went downstairs, and greeted my snoring, ancient Labrador, who was also in no rush to arise.

I let her out, and stared some more into the pre dawn sky. Surely one of these arriving planes would be the one the boy would be on in a short while.